Ghost, Ghost, I Know You Live Within Me
by theherocomplex
Summary: For Shepard and Garrus, death is just another technicality.
1. Chapter 1

_There is no lonelier man in death, except the suicide, than that man who has lived many years with a good wife and then outlived her. If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it._

Ernest Hemingway

* * *

The morning Garrus lost his mind, he woke up to find Shepard sitting next to him. She looked exhausted.

"Hey, Garrus," she said.

"Shepard?" He tried to sit up, got tangled in his sheets, and fell back to his pillows. Shepard's smile grew. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

"You're about to get some bad news. Sorry about that."

His omni-tool chimed with the new-message alert - once, twice, three times. Still groggy, he flipped the display up and scrolled through his messages.

"Wait," he said. "You can't - what is this?"

"Be safe out there, Garrus."

She was gone.

"Not possible," he told the space where she wasn't. "You're not -"

By the time he got dressed, it was all over the extranet.

* * *

Garrus left right after the funeral.

Kaidan tried to talk to him - he even went so far as to grab Garrus' arm, to pull him back as he walked out the door. One look at his face and Kaidan let go, backing away with his hands raised in surrender. He went to the corner where Liara sobbed, Tali's arm around her shoulder.

Garrus walked away.

They could share their grief. He didn't have anyone to share his madness.

* * *

If Garrus still cared, Omega would have terrified him. As it happened, it just disgusted him.

He got a hundred yards from the shuttle bay before he ran into his first crime: a robbery, two vorcha against a batarian.

His rifle was still in its case, but he had his pistol.

Two perfect headshots later, he knew he'd come to the right place.

* * *

Without the artificial daylight of the Citadel Wards, it was easy to lose track of time. Omega existed in perpetual twilight, and Garrus found he could move easily in the shadows, slipping into view long enough for his enemies to glimpse what killed them. None of them knew his face; he only took off his helmet to sleep or eat, and that he did rarely.

It was a strangely pure life, for a place as filthy as Omega.

* * *

He dreamed of Shepard exactly four times.

* * *

Forty-seven days after he came to Omega, Garrus woke up to find Shepard sitting next to him again.

"Hey," she said.

He rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Garrus, wake up."

_No. No. I'm already crazy, don't you see? I'm on Omega. My life expectancy can probably be measured in weeks, at best. You can't make me any crazier._

"Dammit, Garrus, get up!" A hand collided with his cowl. "They're coming."

"Who's coming?" The first burst of adrenalin hit. She sounded so present it stung.

"Blood Pack. You really messed up their last shipment. Now get up! They're maybe five minutes out." The urgency in her voice got him moving, more out of habit than any real alarm.

"Come on, Garrus." She shoved him toward his armor. "Get the lead out."

As far as hallucinations went, this was a fairly pleasant one. Impending death was something he'd gotten used to a while back, and Shepard was there.

"So. Is this how it's going to be now?" Shepard didn't reply. "The last time you showed up, it was to tell me you'd died. Now you're here, telling me I'm about to die. Am I just special, or have you made visits like this to everyone else?"

He could have sworn he felt warmth when her hand touched his arm. "I mean it, Garrus. Move."

_Humor the hallucination._ He got into his armor and reached for his rifle.

Shepard stood at the door, and the sight of her was a punch in the gut.

He'd chosen this back room because of its anonymity - broken crates, stained walls, a vague musty odor. No one who ever came here wanted to come back again, or remembered it once they left. A safe haven for a vigilante. Dark and quiet.

Not now. She wavered under his gaze, like a candle flame caught in a sigh.

"You've got questions, I get that, but we have to run." She nodded at the door. "You ready?"

"Oh, I'm ready," he said, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. For all he knew, someone could have shot him in the head while he slept and this was his brain's way of shutting off the lights. As far as dying went, this was fairly painless.

Painless, at least, until she smiled at him. "Then let's go," she said. "I've got a safe place for you, but we have to hurry."

* * *

Shepard took him on a roundabout, tangled path through the Gozu district before climbing up into a disused ventilation shaft. After that, they slipped from alley to alley, narrowly avoiding a Blue Suns patrol when the mercs came laughing out of a dive bar. Shepard pushed him back against the wall and held him there, a cool hand over his mouth. His armor dug into her chest, but when he tried to shift, she shook her head.

When the mercs were gone, she stepped away. Garrus let out a long breath. She'd had real weight when she leaned against him.

Before he had time to wonder more than what if, she was waving him on.

"Not much farther - just stay quiet. More patrols."

He nodded. Talking wasted breath he could use for running, and he had no idea what he would ask if he had the breath to spare.

They ran in silence. Once or twice she made them double back and hide, and every time a merc patrol passed, talking in low voices about some new troublemaker.

After the second near-miss, Shepard grinned at him.

"You know they're talking about you, right? Starting to make a name for yourself, Garrus. Should have known you'd start trouble if you went off on your own."

"I didn't start trouble," he fired back in a whisper. "Those scum did. I'm just cleaning up."

"I know, big guy. Just giving you a hard time." She peered around the corner. "Ready to keep going?" She waited long enough for him to nod before she was up and moving.

They didn't stop. Shepard pushed him to go faster, always faster, goading him when he started to slow down. Garrus felt his pride rise to the bait, and put on a last burst of speed to catch up with her. For the last two blocks, they were neck-and-neck.

She stopped so suddenly that he blew past her, and had to jog back to stand at her side.

"I know it's not much," Shepard said, "but it's home."

They stood at the foot of a bridge, staring up at an abandoned apartment building. Garrus nodded, too focused on catching his breath to pay much attention to what Shepard said. She wasn't breathing hard, or even sweating.

"Come on," she said. "Time to get you settled in."

His footsteps sounded large and hollow on the bridge. The door's lock had been hacked and he could hear the ancient machinery scraping in protest as he shoved it open to let her in.

The inside was dark. Not long ago, something had crawled here to die, and the sweet smell of rot filled his nose. He coughed and covered his mouth.

"Sorry about that," said Shepard. She moved farther into the room, picking her way carefully into the gloom until she disappeared completely. "I didn't have time to clean before I had to come find you. Took me forever to find this place. Apparently there's a shortage of abandoned but semi-livable buildings here on Omega. Who knew? Had a time limit too. Blood Pack had picked up your trail. Where's the damn - oh, here it is. Cover your eyes, Garrus."

"What?" he said, trying to follow the path of her conversation. When the lights came on, dim and flickering, he hissed and blinked.

"Told you to cover your eyes," Shepard smirked at him from across the room. "Oh, wow, that's nasty. Don't look in that corner."

When his vision cleared, he simply stared at her. She'd be gone soon, and he wanted to get his fill before she evaporated.

She didn't disappear. She waited, hands on her hips, eyes never leaving his face.

"Spit it out, Garrus," she told him.

"You -"

"Yeah, I did."

"But you're here."

"Yeah." She crossed the room to stand an arm's length away. "I'm here. Don't ask me why, or how." She shuddered. "_How_ hurts too much."

He looked away.

"Garrus? You good?"

He barked a laugh. "No, Commander, I'm not." There was something bitter in his throat. "How could I possibly be okay? What do you want? Why are you - why did you come here?" _To me?_

Shepard was silent for a long time. Garrus waited. Now she'd disappear.

She folded her arms, a grin haunting the corners of her mouth. "I'm here to help," she said. "If you're going to clean up Omega, you're going to need a hand. Besides," the grin slipped sideways and dropped away, "it's not like I have anything else to do."

It took most of a day, but they made the building habitable. Shepard got rid of the horrible thing moldering in the corner while Garrus cleared out the old clothes and rotted food from the rooms upstairs. The furniture that had been left behind was mostly broken or missing pieces, so he piled them into the garbage compactor - which, for a miracle, was still working.

When he was done, everything was very quiet.

"Shepard?" he called, unsure if he wanted her to answer. Something shifted below him, metal on metal, and then there was nothing but silence.

He found Shepard at the foot of the bridge, staring back the way they had come. She was drawn and pale, more tired than he could remember her looking.

"It's a good position," she said. "Snipers on the balcony, proximity charges there and there. We can move those old crates so they block entry from either side, so the only way enemies can come at us is from the bridge. It'll funnel them into scope." When he didn't reply, she started to turn around but stopped herself. "What do you think?" she asked.

_We._ She said we, like nothing had changed and they were briefing for a mission on the Normandy. _We,_ like they were still a team and she hadn't -

"I'm sure it's fine."

"Garrus." There was a warning in her voice. He closed his eyes. "You can't do this alone."

"Do you see anyone else who was on the Normandy?" His voice clattered against the bare walls.

He heard Shepard take a step toward him. "None of them would have abandoned you. They were your friends, Garrus."

"They were _your crew_. There's a difference. After you were gone, there was nothing holding us together."

She made a rough, dismissive noise. "The fight belonged to all of us. I know they didn't leave you. You _left_."

Garrus turned, snarling, to find Shepard a hand's length away. "Why did you leave?" she asked. Her voice never wavered. "Why did you give up on being a Spectre, Garrus? What made you come here?" She swept her hand out toward the skyline.

His hands clenched uselessly and fell to his side. "You left," he said. It was only half an answer, and Shepard knew it.

"I didn't do it on purpose." When he tried to look away, she grabbed his chin and pulled him back to meet her gaze. "If you're trying to paint this as you bringing justice to Omega, I'm not buying it. Why did you come here?"

He tried to pull back but her hand tightened painfully.

"You got a death wish, Vakarian? You want to go out in a blaze of glory?"

_Yes. Yes._

She read the answer in his face. Her mouth quirked, and she looked away.

"Take it from me." When she looked back at him, her eyes glittered. "Fire is no way to die."

Shepard let go of his face and walked back to the end of the bridge. Garrus touched his chin. The phantom sensation of her cool hand lingered.

A minute later, she said, "Did they give me a nice funeral?"

"I don't want to talk about that," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Then our conversation options are pretty slim. You won't talk about fortifications, you won't talk about why you're here, you won't talk about me being dead."

"Stop it," Garrus growled. Shepard laughed. The sound spiraled out of her mouth, all jagged lines.

"No, really. What else is there to talk about? One minute I was getting Joker into the escape pod, the next I couldn't breathe."

"Stop it!" he shouted. "Whatever you are, whatever happened to you, I don't want to hear it."

"Well _tough shit_, Vakarian. I've got no one else to talk to." She scrubbed a hand over her face. "Like it or not, you're stuck with me."

The silence closed around them. Shepard shut her eyes. Garrus stared at her, looking for signs of death. If there were any, he couldn't see them.

"Do turians believe in ghosts?"

The word came through his translator as _spirits_, but he knew that wasn't what she was asking.

"No," he said. "Once you're gone, you're gone."

"So this is something new for you, huh?" She folded her arms and cocked her hip. The posture was so familiar his throat closed. "Congratulations, Vakarian, you're the first turian to be haunted."

Anger twisted in his gut. "This isn't funny," he snapped, the dual tones of his voice fraying. "You're dead, Shepard. You're supposed to be gone, not hanging around here with me in this hole. What did you have to come back for?"

"I'm here to help you," she said. Garrus grated out a laugh.

"Help me? There's nothing to help. We _failed_. No one listened. They're blaming it all on the geth. Sovereign nearly destroyed the Citadel and no one believed us. And everyone else, they just went back to their lives. I tried, but I couldn't, not knowing - " He grabbed his head, talons digging into his skin. If he could dig deep enough, he could tear out his guilt and his fury. His head would be quiet again. "The Reapers are still coming, and without you, no one will listen, Commander."

"Garrus, Garrus." The gentleness in her voice was unbearable. Shepard was brave and kind and loyal, but she was only gentle when someone was hopeless. "Look at me."

"You want to know why I came to Omega? I came because I wanted to make sure when the Reapers came, I'd done all I could to make sure life was good for people who deserved it. I'm here to clean up." His voice was savage. "I'm making it brighter before it all ends."

It was all so pointless. He wanted to scream but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

Somehow, Shepard was standing in front of him now. He felt her hands on his, pulling them away before they could do real damage. She held his hands against her chest, and said his name until he opened his eyes.

"You're not alone, Garrus," she said. He slumped down, his head pressed against her shoulder, and after a long pause, her hand came to rest on the side of his face. "I'm here."


	2. Chapter 2

Garrus slept.

* * *

He woke up feeling like his bones had been replaced with crushed glass, with gritty eyes and stiff hands.

"Water bottle's on the table," said Shepard from the doorway, "along with painkillers and some dextro-friendly ration packs."

He kept his back to her. "How long was I out?"

"Almost fifteen hours. I was going to wake you after ten, but I decided to let sleeping turians lie."

Garrus rolled over and sat up with a grunt.

"Is there anything else you need? I can go get - I don't know, stuff. Things. It might take me a while. Hard to carry a lot of stuff at once. Took me almost two hours just to get all of that." She ran a hand through her hair. Garrus could feel her gaze on the side of his face. "Help me out here, Garrus. What do you need?"

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grateful that he'd kept his pants on when the old sheet fell away. "I'm fine, Shepard. Well, not really," he amended. She always knew when he was lying. "I feel like crap, but that's a month and a half of not sleeping catching up to me. I'll be fine."

Shepard hovered in the doorway.

"Did you sleep at all?"

She folded her arms. "I can't sleep." Before he could do more than feel stupid for asking the question, she gave him a hard little smile. "I'm going to have a very productive afterlife."

"So what did you do all night? Sit here and watch me?"

Shepard's lack of response was all the answer he needed. "Spirits, Shepard, didn't you have anything better to do?"

"Like what?" Her voice was neutral. "Until I'm sure this location is secure, I'm not leaving you alone longer than I have to. Besides, I wasn't watching you." She pointed down the hall. "I spent most of the night on the balcony. It's an excellent sniper position. Like I said."

Garrus shoved off the bed with a hiss. His tunic and armor were still where he had dropped them the night before. He dressed and tried to ignore how he smelled like old sweat and dirt. Nothing stayed clean on Omega.

"We have limited resources," she said. "I'm using what we've got."

"Great."

He heard her teeth close over her reply. Dirt gritted under her feet as she turned and left.

A handful of seconds later, Garrus followed her. Shepard had only made it as far as the main living area. One couch had survived his purge, and she sat on the edge of the seat, elbows balanced on knees and her face buried in her hands.

"If you want me to leave, fine," she said through her fingers. "I'll leave. I have no interest in sticking around someone who hates me for dying."

"Shepard, I don't..."

"But you should know, I went to see everyone else. Kaidan, Tali, Wrex -" Shepard's voice trembled, but she forced herself on. "Liara. None of them could see me. I shouted in their faces and they didn't hear a word I said. I tried throwing things but I just got so tired -" She winced. "No one can see me. No one except you. What makes you so special?"

The last sentence wasn't meant for him, but it hurt to hear her say it. She realized it a moment later.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, Garrus. That was an awful thing to say."

"I've heard worse," He sat down across from her. "I've been wondering that too. Why me? Why not Liara?" He couldn't help the way his voice lifted in a question.

Shepard peered at him through her fingertips. "What are you implying?"

"You and - well, you and Liara, weren't you, ah?"

"Were we _what?_" Shepard asked. Garrus squirmed.

"You melded, or whatever the asari do. That - thing."

Shepard made what might have been a laugh. "Seriously? That's what you're concerned about?"

"It was just a question!" He threw up his hands, and realized with resignation that it was a gesture he'd picked up from the human crew. "I thought you two were, I don't know, _connected_. Together." _In love_, his brain helpfully supplied, but he cut himself off before he could say it.

"Me and -" Shepard let her hands fall and leaned back against the couch. "No. I can see why you'd think that, though. Kaidan did too."

"Oh," said Garrus, feeling strangely reassured. "Wait. Kaidan? So it was you and -"

"Why are you so interested in my sex life, Garrus?" Shepard half-grinned at him. "For the record, and because this conversation is already awkward enough, I did not sleep with Liara. Or Kaidan. Or Tali. Or anyone else on the Normandy." She squinted at him. "Did _you_ sleep with anyone on the Normandy? You and Ashley would have made a cute couple."

"What?" he sputtered, his neck going hot until he saw Shepard turn away to hide her grin. "Oh. Oh. Right."

"Don't ever play poker, Garrus."

"I'll take it under advisement." The silence stretched out between them, not as frosty as before, but nowhere near friendly.

"Did you see Ash?"

Shepard waited before answering. "No." Her mouth constricted. "I kind of hoped she'd be hanging around too, even if she just wanted to yell at me for getting myself blown up."

Garrus laughed. It hurt, but everything hurt when he thought about Ash, left behind to die. They hadn't exactly been friends, but he had trusted her. However badly he wanted to punch her when she started running off at the mouth, she'd always had his back. "I would have liked to see that. The ghost of Commander Shepard, getting - what's the phrase? - getting her ass handed to her by the ghost of Gunnery Chief Williams."

"Cute, Garrus." Shepard picked at a hole in her pants. "A regular ghost party." She didn't seem inclined to say anything else, but he felt like he had to keep the conversation moving.

"We - turians - believe in spirits. I never really paid attention to them." Shepard's hand went still on her leg. "They represent the honor of a squad, or, I don't know, the beauty of a field."

"But you don't pray to them."

"Not really, not like humans do, or the asari. They just _are_." Garrus forced himself to meet Shepard's eyes. "I barely had a chance to get used to you being dead. Now I don't know what to think."

She let out a long breath. "I didn't mean to screw up your life, Garrus. Like I said, I can go if you want me to. But I couldn't just leave you for the Blood Pack."

"You didn't screw up my life," he said. "I had already done a pretty good job of it on my own. I decided to come to Omega, remember?" She chuckled.

"True." Her hand tightened on her leg. She pushed herself up, inclining her body toward his. He leaned forward, and the space between them could be measured in inches. "So. What do you want to do?"

He thought about it. What did he want?

He wanted to be brave, to keep fighting.

He didn't want Shepard to leave.

"If we're going to do this," he said slowly. "We're going to need a team. No way I can hold this position, not even with you on my side, Shepard."

"A team, huh?" she said. "Where are we going to find anyone crazy enough to help us?"

"This is Omega. Insanity's at a premium." She snickered.

"Then what? Once we've cleaned out Omega, what's our next move?"

"I thought dying would have made you patient," he said, and regretted it immediately. Shepard just laughed, and his heart squeezed painfully.

"I'm still me," she said. "Being dead is just a technicality."

* * *

His new name came out of nowhere.

Garrus never found out who started it, and he felt like it was bad luck to ask if Shepard had heard anything on her solitary rambles through Omega. Somewhere, somehow, someone he helped gave him a name.

The name burned through Omega like the city was kindling.

_Archangel._

* * *

Shepard never called him Archangel.

* * *

Shepard took to disappearing for days.

The first time she left, Garrus didn't leave the apartment until she came back two days later. She appeared behind him as he was methodically shredding his third uneaten ration pack. He felt the change in air pressure seconds before she started talking.

"Eclipse mercs are setting up a new base in the lower levels of the Kartu District. Looks like they're trying to branch out, take over some of Blue Suns' business. Could get ugly, but -"

"Where the hell were you?" Garrus managed to keep from shouting with the last thread of his restraint. Shepard blinked at him.

"Recon," she bit out.

"Recon," said Garrus. "_Recon._"

"Is there a problem, Garrus?" She clasped her hands behind her back.

"You were gone," he said. "You didn't say anything, you just left."

"Your point?" Shepard tilted her head. "Should I have left a note? _Dear Garrus, I'm currently haunting dark corners of Omega, eavesdropping on mercs. Home before dinner._"

With a massive effort, Garrus swallowed his anger and unclenched his hand from the edge of the table. Shepard's eyes followed the motion. Her posture relaxed a fraction.

"You want to build a team, that's great. But right now, I'm what you've got, Garrus. And you have to let me use my... unique qualities. I can't hold a gun for more than three minutes without feeling like I'm about to collapse, so I can't fight. But listening? That I can do." Shepard turned away, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. He caught her off-balance and she nearly stumbled into him.

"If you're on my team, Shepard, you can't disappear without telling me."

"That an order, Vakarian?"

"If that makes it easier, yes." He let go of her arm. "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd be taking orders from me, Shepard."

"Impossible things happen all the time." Shepard leaned against the table. "So. You want me to tell you what I heard, or do you have more food to destroy?"

* * *

Garrus found his first squad member while he was tracking a mid-level slaver who'd been using Omega as a waystation. In between taking down the slaver's shields with a concussive round and switching back to regular ammo for the kill, Garrus saw a flicker of movement from halfway down the alley.

Ten seconds later, the slaver was dead and the biggest human Garrus had ever seen was standing in front of him, with bloody hands and a wide grin.

"I like usin' me fists," he announced, without preamble. "Sorry for takin' yer kill, but it looked like so much fun I had to give it a go. Archangel, right?"

Butler was the only name the man gave, and Garrus didn't ask for another. His arms were criss-crossed with scars, and a long time ago, someone had sliced his mouth open on either side. Shepard called it a _Glasgow smile_, and wouldn't elaborate when Garrus asked.

"My god, he's a bruiser," was Shepard's only other comment when Garrus asked her what she thought.

"Come on, Shepard." Nearly a month had passed since she appeared at his bedside, and even though there wasn't anything close to intimacy between them, he felt like he could prod without getting his head bitten off. "You have to have something more to say."

She shrugged with one shoulder. "It's your operation, Garrus. I'm not in command here, you are. Do you trust him?"

"Not yet," Garrus answered. "But he stepped in to fight when he didn't have to. And nothing he's said makes me think he has merc ties. There are a few ways to tell, some obvious signs. I learned them at C-Sec." He adjusted his armor. "But he knows who I am - well, he knows what Archangel looks like. That's dangerous."

"He's the only living person on this rock who does," said Shepard, and Garrus impressed himself by not cringing. "I can watch him," she offered, a little stiffly. "Have to do something with my nights."

For lack of something to say, Garrus nodded.

* * *

It wasn't until much later Garrus realized Shepard had sounded _jealous_.


	3. Chapter 3

Two months after Shepard reappeared, the squad was four strong and the mercs had started to pay attention.

Butler turned out to be handy with more than his fists; he was deadly with a submachine gun. He introduced Garrus to Erash, a salarian medic who implied a history with STG. Erash introduced Garrus to a silent batarian named Vortash, who once waited three days for a kill on a Red Sand smuggler.

Force of habit made him stick to Shepard's old three-person team formation, but there was strategic sense behind his choice. Someone had to stay behind and hold the base. He cycled through his new squad members, trying to avoid overuse while still anticipating who would be best for a given mission.

Garrus had gained a whole new respect for Shepard's ability to plan a ground squad. At times, he thought he spent more time planning how to kill mercs than actually doing it.

Not today. Today he had three more kills to add to his count, and his whole team made it back alive.

He tried not to groan. It had been a long day, and what he wanted was a shower, a drink, and his bed, in that order.

Shepard had taken to coming into his room after a mission, just to listen. There were nights he didn't feel like talking, and she'd leave almost right away. Tonight, he wanted her company. They'd gone up against a particularly vicious group of vorcha, and nearly ended up torn and gutted before Erash, quite literally, exploded them out.

The medic had been doubly useful that day. Garrus and Vortash had taken hits at close range - Garrus in the shoulder, Vortash in the side - and the dislocated shoulder and broken ribs would have slowed down their escape if the salarian hadn't been able to deal with them.

He left the door to his room open, and focused on keeping his sore shoulder as still as possible. There were painkillers in his kit under the bed, but there was a bottle of whiskey too, and he already knew what his preference was.

The rest of the squad was already in their room, getting ready to hit the showers before sleeping. He was alone.

He felt the air shudder behind him, displaced by a body that hadn't been there a second ago.

"Except for the salarian, you could be a Blue Suns outfit," Shepard commented. When he glanced over his good shoulder, her back was to him, her eyes fixed on the closed door of the squad's room. "Smart."

"Agreed," said Garrus. "But I can't claim the credit. They came to me." He popped the final clasp and shrugged out of his armor. He couldn't stop a sigh from slipping out of him when the weight disappeared and he could finally take a full breath again. When he tried to stretch, he hissed in pain.

"Something wrong?" said Shepard.

Garrus debated lying for all of two seconds before he felt Shepard's hand on the back of his cowl, her fingers probing until they hit the bruise over his shoulder. He hissed again.

"Concussive round at short range. My shields were down," he admitted. "It's nothing."

Shepard's fingers twisted painfully into the bruise. Garrus almost yelled with the sudden stab of pain and tried to cover it with a cough.

"Nothing, huh?" She pulled her hand away. "A dislocated shoulder isn't _nothing_, Garrus."

"How do you - Shepard." He turned around. "Are you following us?"

Shepard looked back, unblinking. "I had your six," she said calmly. Garrus clenched his fists and waited. The expected anger didn't come. He had a moment of pure annoyance - how could she have his six? She was _dead_ - but a warmer feeling replaced it. He forced himself not to smile at her.

"Well, next time, make sure I don't get hit. Even with medi-gel, this still hurts like a bitch."

"All right, smart guy. Shirt off." Shepard made a _hurry-up_ sign with her hands. "Let me take a look."

"Aah, Shepard, as much as I appreciate the gesture, I don't think you're a qualified medical professional."

"Shirt off, Garrus. I want to make sure you're not hiding any other grievous injuries from me."

He pulled off his tunic. Shepard reached out to touch his carapace, but stopped an inch away. She moved her hands over his plates without actually touching him, her brows puckering as she traced the contours of his body.

"Turn around," she said. He grabbed her hands instead. Shepard jumped but didn't pull away.

"How long have you been following us?"

"Since you first went out with Butler," she answered, without any shame. "I told you I'd watch him."

It seemed like a very long time ago that he'd ever had doubts about Butler. Now he knew the man - he'd even met his wife, a slim-hipped, dark-skinned woman named Nalah who worked in a clinic down in the Gozu district. She'd smiled when Butler introduced them, using Garrus' real name, but if she had any guesses about who he was, she never voiced them.

Butler wasn't his right hand, but he was a strong arm.

"You don't need to worry about Butler," Garrus told her. "Or any of them. I trust them."

"It's not about trust," said Shepard. "It's about you, Garrus."

The warmth was heat now, a fire instead of an ember. "Me?" he asked.

"You're not joining me." She pulled her hands away. "I won't let it happen." Shepard looked like she was about to say something else, and Garrus found himself very invested in what it was. She shook her head.

"I'll be down at the bridge," she said. "Get some rest, Garrus."

* * *

They were four months in, and rumors about Archangel outnumbered the known truths, ten to one. The squad kept growing.

Two asari got invites to the squad when Garrus and Vortash found them squaring off against six vorcha. They wanted to fill their maiden days with something more meaningful than dancing in a bar.

"Our dad was a turian," said Mierin with a lopsided grin. "We've got a soft spot for you guys." Melanis nodded at her side. "And if you've got a plan to get this place back on its feet, we're in."

Arnold Monteague - who preferred to be known by his last name only and was _very_ emphatic about it - was a former Alliance medic. Shepard tipped them off about the batarians who were trashing his clinic, but they barely got there in time to pull him and his patients out. Monteague swore too quickly and too often for the non-humans' translators to handle, but his hands were just as fast, and they were the only things that kept Mierin from bleeding out before they got her back to base.

Monteague brought along an ex-Blue Suns merc, Ripper, whom he described in turns as his bodyguard, his boyfriend, and his nurse. Garrus had his doubts about the man's merc ties, but Shepard watched Ripper for weeks and never saw anything to worry her.

He trusted Shepard. Some things never changed.

Weaver, Sensat and Grundan Krul were the last to join. Shepard found them barricaded in an old storage locker, being starved to death by the Blue Suns for trying to push the mercs out of their neighborhood. The battle to free them took almost a day, and Monteague and Erash ran themselves to exhaustion patching everyone up and treating the three rescuees for malnutrition.

Weaver was barely out of her teens. Garrus' first instinct was to buy her a ticket off Omega before he learned she had a talent for electronics; her upgrade to the squad's drones saw a seventeen percent increase in shield duration. When she asked to stay, he agreed. Reluctantly.

When Sensat was free, he asked about Weaver, and then asked for a gun. Garrus handed him his spare pistol, and the salarian blew the head off a merc who had managed to stagger to her feet. He handed the gun back to Garrus without a word. For two years, he'd be the most ruthless salarian Garrus ever met.

Krul gave no history and barely talked to anyone other than Weaver or Vortash. The two batarians kept to themselves, other than when Melanis or Mierin came around. The sisters were the only ones who got smiles out of Vortash - though Weaver kept trying, no matter how many times she failed.

They weren't what he expected, not any of them, but they were solid. Each one of them wanted what Garrus did: a clean Omega, a healthy Omega.

It wasn't their fault that he wanted more.

* * *

His squad called him _boss_.

Shepard still just called him Garrus.

* * *

The squad was eleven strong, and Garrus was happy to keep it there. Prime numbers felt lucky.

Then Butler came back from Afterlife with his arm slung around the shoulders of a turian, booming a greeting across the bridge.

"Goddess," breathed Melanis. She glared down at Butler. "Want me to Warp them over the edge, boss?" Her hands flared blue.

The quiet explosion of air behind him meant Shepard had arrived. From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod.

"No," said Garrus. "Let them cross. I'll deal with him downstairs. Eyes ahead." Melanis jerked her head at Sensat. They bracketed the balcony. Garrus took his time going down the stairs.

"You see anything?" he asked under his breath. Shepard's hand brushed his arm.

"Nothing of interest." Her voice was close to his ear. "He met Nalah at Afterlife. After she left, he broke up a fight between two batarians. The turian helped. They bought each other drinks. Now they're here. He's good. Moves almost as fast as you do. I'm not surprised Butler brought him back."

"Advertising our location," Garrus grumbled. Weaver half-rose from her work bench.

"Boss?"

Garrus waved her back.

"Boss!" roared Butler.

Shepard laughed. "Shut him up before the mercs figure out where we are and decide to attack at once."

Merc companies _cooperating?_ "Never happen," he murmured.

Shepard nudged him. "Don't jinx yourself, big guy."

Vortash was at the door, rifle aimed at the exact point where Butler was hollering to be let in. Garrus keyed in the door code and folded his arms.

"Boss!" Butler bellowed. He swung his arm from the turian's shoulders and beamed. The scarred skin at his mouth puckered and twisted. "Oi, boss, got us a new recruit!"

"He's not drunk," Shepard answered before Garrus knew he'd thought the question. "Three beers only. Wouldn't even get him buzzed."

"Get in," Garrus ordered. Butler's smile dropped away. "Bring the _recruit_, too."

Butler and the turian shuffled in. Butler looked like he was just starting to realize his mistake, and the turian couldn't decide where to put his hands. The door slid shut and locked behind them. The only sound was four new thermal clips being loaded into four different guns.

"So," said Garrus. He let his voice go slow and cold. "You brought a _friend_ over." Butler glanced away, and Garrus turned his attention to the turian. "Sorry about the mess. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have cleaned up."

Shepard snickered.

The turian looked around, marking each point where a squad member crouched, sights locked. Garrus was reluctantly impressed. There was a tactical mind somewhere inside that head.

"Name?" The newcomer met his gaze and straightened when he read Garrus' markings. He could almost see the calculations going on in the turian's head.

"Lantar Sidonis," the turian answered. The last name and the facial markings didn't pull up any memories, but that meant nothing when turians were so scattered. "I'm a big fan, Archangel. You're the only one on this shithole with the right idea. And I want to help."

Weaver snorted. "What makes you think you're good enough?" she asked, every syllable a challenge.

"What makes you think we're gonna let you live?" Melanis said, right on the heels of Weaver's sentence. She stayed on the stairs, her pistol never wavering.

Garrus wanted to turn and look at Shepard, to see if her face gave him any clue as to how he should proceed, but it'd be crazy to try. He rolled his shoulders and gave Sidonis a measuring look.

"Who was it?"

Sidonis went very still. "Who was what?"

Garrus tried not to grin. He'd made a gamble, but it had been the right one. "Who did the mercs take out? No one's here just because they want to clean up. They're here for payback."

"Everyone except you, Garrus," whispered Shepard.

Sidonis stood even straighter. "My brother," he said. "Eclipse bitches. Sorry," he said. Melanis shrugged. "I want to help," he repeated. "And I'm pretty good with a shotgun. You could use me."

Garrus thought about it. They could always use someone else. They were just one team against all the cruelty of Omega. And Butler had some of the best survival instincts - bar fights aside - that he'd ever seen. If Sidonis hadn't tripped any alarms, then it was worth a trial run.

He wished Shepard would say something. As hard as he'd tried, he hadn't quite been able to break the habit of looking to her for approval.

_It's all on me now,_ he thought. _I'm the boss. I'm Archangel. The chain of command...is me._

"Fine," said Garrus. "You're in. For now."

Sidonis seemed to accept that. He grinned. Garrus felt a surge of homesickness. It had been a long time since he'd seen another turian smile. "Where should I throw my gear?"

"I'll show ye," Butler said hurriedly, and lead Sidonis past the rest of the squad with an apologetic, relieved glance at Garrus.

"Butler," Garrus called after him. "We'll talk about your unique recruitment methods later."

"Yeah, boss," said Butler. The rest of the squad relaxed and headed back to their stations or bunks.

Garrus rolled his shoulders to let the last of his tension ease away, and realized Shepard's hand was in his, squeezing so tightly it hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N**: I just wanted to thank every reader so far! This story means a lot to me, and every review or follow or favorite gets me so excited to keep working on it! _

_Anyways - on to the story!_

* * *

Garrus had to admit Butler's instincts were right about Sidonis. While his hand-to-hand wasn't near Garrus' or Butler's level, he was much better at talking his way out of potential trouble.

And he could stand toe-to-toe with a krogan and not flinch. Always a plus when they went up against the Blood Pack.

Sidonis won Weaver over in the time it took to compliment her latest mods, which in turn had won over Sensat and Grundan. Garrus was sure there was more to that odd triad than he knew, but Shepard wasn't giving anything away.

"Ask them if you're so curious," she said. They were at the foot of the bridge, four hours away from what counted as _dawn_ on Omega. "I'm not spilling any secrets."

Garrus always took the pre-dawn watches. It was the only way he was guaranteed privacy with Shepard. Even if she was out on one of her scouts through Omega, she always swung through for a few quiet words.

They stood with their arms touching. Every few words, their hands would brush and linger. Her skin was a few degrees cooler than his.

"All you do is spill secrets," he said. Shepard elbowed him in the side.

"Merc secrets don't count."

"Ah, my mistake." He glanced over the bridge in time to see a pyjak dash across. Shepard saw it too.

"Get it!" she hissed. A half-second later, there was a shot, a squeal, and a limp-limbed body hit the wall.

"I didn't have to use my scope," Garrus grumbled. "Next time, give me something hard."

"Oh, Garrus, you have no idea what you just started." Shepard bent at the waist and scooped up a bottle. "I played softball for ten years as a kid. Pitched half a season of no-hitters."

"I don't understand what you just said, but maybe you should stop talking and _throw_."

Shepard got the bullish look she always did when someone told her she couldn't do something - it came out a lot around Udina - and whipped the bottle down the bridge. It whistled through the air until Garrus shattered it.

"You got lucky," she said.

"Hey boss? Everything all right down there?"

Garrus saw the moment Shepard remembered no one could see her. The way her face went hard made his tongue curl. He didn't reply until Sidonis called out again.

"Boss? You good?"

"I'm good," Garrus called back.

There was no reply. A few minutes later, the door to the base opened and Sidonis stepped out.

"Can't sleep? Me neither." Sidonis' eyes roved over the bridge and fell on the dead pyjak. He gave Garrus an unimpressed look.

"Do we have to worry about pyjak mercs now? Or is Eclipse just low on recruits?"

Shepard laughed. Garrus caught himself before he turned to smile at her.

"Just keeping my skills sharp.". Sidonis huffed.

"Like you'd have any problems with that." Sidonis crossed his arms and stared out across the bridge. "So what was it like?"

Something in his voice warned Garrus. He managed not to flinch. "What was what like?"

Sidonis huffed again. "Serving with Commander Shepard. The first human Spectre. Savior of the Citadel." He gave Garrus a wry smile. "The whole squad wants to know, but they don't want to ask because...well, you know."

Air rushed to fill the space Shepard had abandoned.

Sidonis waited for his answer. Garrus' voice fought its way past the knot in his chest.

"It was eye-opening," he said. "Working with humans, serving under one - never thought I'd end up in that situation."

"You didn't just serve with humans. Wasn't there a quarian hanging around? And a krogan?"

"And an asari," said Garrus. A swell of longing rushed over him: for Wrex's grousing about food, for the crackle of Tali's voice behind her mask and the way Liara clasped her hands when she got excited. "They were...good teammates."

_They were my family._

Sidonis made a thoughtful noise and turned back to watch the bridge. "What was she like?"

"She - she was brave, by any standards. And loyal. Smart." Garrus reminded himself to answer in the past tense. "She was my friend." He couldn't bring himself to say more.

Sidonis hummed with both larynxes. "There still aren't a lot of humans who would say that about a turian. That they were friends."

"Shepard wasn't like most humans. She was -" He couldn't chose a word. "There won't be anyone else like her."

Sidonis stayed quiet.

_Smart_, thought Garrus. _Very smart._

* * *

Garrus stumbled into his room. He and Sidonis had stayed down in the common room after the rest of the squad hit their bunks, drinking and comparing notes on their civil service days. Shepard watched from the chair he'd come to think of as hers.

"You like him."

"Hrm?" He turned his back as he stripped down to his undersuit.

"Sidonis. Your bosom buddy."

"I'm going to ignore how that translated."

Shepard kicked her legs out in front of her and crossed her arms. He recognized her pose; she would wait him out to get the answers she wanted. Best to give in now and save himself the humiliation of defeat.

"It's good to have another turian around. Someone who knows about home, about - well, about being turian. The rest of the squad, I trust them with my life, but -" He stopped, unsure of how to go on.

"But you don't have to worry about him missing some crucial subvocal or puking if he eats your food by accident."

Garrus crawled into bed. "Right. It's reassuring. I'm used to working with non-turians from the Normandy, but there's something about having another turian around."

It was a sign of how far they'd come that neither of them winced when he said _Normandy_.

"I'm envious," she said out of nowhere.

Garrus froze with his hand on the light. "Envious?"

"Yeah." She ran a hand through her hair. "It's stupid, but I miss going out with everyone. Drinking shitty beer, people-watching, just hanging out. Like I did before _this_. I'd even take a night out at Chora's Den if it meant -"

He rolled on his side to see her face, but she turned away. He only saw the bright sweep of her hair.

"You didn't come with me tonight?" She shook her head.

"I figured you'd want a night without me in your periphery. You know, turians-only. Ghost-free.

Garrus frowned. "I like it when I know you're there," he said slowly. Shepard half-laughed, her head thrown back, the column of her neck exposed.

"I hate this," she said, her voice suddenly rough. "I hate being dead."

After a long, shuddering silence, Shepard kept talking.

"I just feel _useless_. Yeah, I got you out before the Blood Pack got there. Now what? I just lurk around Omega, listening for anything that can help you. I need my own fight. I'm nothing without it."

"Shepard," Garrus said in a careful voice. "You're helping me."

"Bullshit," she retorted flatly. "You don't need me. You've got a squad now. They look up to you. It's - it's amazing, Garrus. When you came here, I thought you'd broken." She gave him a weak smile. "I thought you'd get shot soon as you could. I'm sorry for doubting you. You were a mess, but you pulled it together."

He laid his arm over his eyes. "I came here because it seemed like the only thing left. I couldn't fight the Reapers, but I could fight here. That's about as much thought as I gave it."

"Now you've got an eleven-man army and a ghost mascot. Things turned out pretty well." She picked at her sleeve. "I'm so used to fighting and now I can't. It's like I don't know what to do without a gun in my hand." Shepard rubbed her eyes. Garrus saw, with something like horror, that she was almost crying. "Who am I if I can't fight?"

In the whole fight against Saren, even after Ash died, he'd never seen Shepard like this. Every blow strengthened her resolve, made her push forward harder and faster. She'd been grim but unbeaten. Now she had nothing to lose by being honest.

He wondered if she hurt this badly when she was alive and hated himself for never asking.

He dropped his arm to his side and stared at her until she looked at him. Then he spoke.

"You aren't just your battles," he began. Shepard made that broken laugh again, but didn't look away.

"I'm a soldier, Garrus. That's all I know."

"I know you're more," he told her. "Dead or not, you're the best friend I've ever had. My squad is my family, but I couldn't do this without you."

She wrapped her arms around her chest. In the dim light, she looked very young and very tired.

"Thank you," she said, so sincere he had to look away. After a moment, he held out his hand. She took it and traced his face with her eyes.

Some things were too large for words. And this, whatever it was and however strange, was just beginning. But he could ask.

"Stay tonight?"

She squeezed his hand.

* * *

"Hey boss?"

"Hey Weaver?"

"Finished that bypass I told you about." Weaver bounced on her heels while Garrus looked over the mods. "People are salty about these new security upgrades, let me tell you. Bye bye omni-gel."

"But let me guess, once we apply these to our omni-tools..."

Weaver beamed. "Won't be a door on the station that can keep us out for long." Her smile faded. "Well, until the next round of upgrades comes out, and then I'll have to patch the mods. But until then, we're ahead of the game. Sorry it's not permanent." She stopped bouncing and knotted her fingers together.

Not for the first time, Garrus wondered how much Weaver's resemblance to Tali was what convinced him to let her stay.

"It's fine. I want these mods applied to the squad's omni-tools before the next patrol. Can you do that?"

She nodded. "Oh sure! Sensat and Grundan already had theirs upgraded. They're my guinea pigs."

"Of course they are," Shepard said from her chair. She was in a surprisingly good mood.

Garrus ignored her. "Nice work, Weaver."

Weaver beamed. "Thanks, boss." She was halfway out the door when Garrus called her back.

"You mind if I ask you a question, Weaver?"

She shrugged. "Nope. Hit me, boss."

"It's none of my business, but..."

"Here it comes," said Shepard. "Weaver better watch out. Garrus Vakarian is on the case."

He resisted the urge to give her a shove.

"...but what's your story? You seem pretty close to -"

"Oh, that?" Weaver interrupted. "Yeah, I figured you'd ask. It looked weird finding us all together, I bet. Well, it's nothing sexy, if that's what you were wondering."

"I bet you were, Garrus," whispered Shepard. "Sexy, sexy thoughts about Grundan and Sensat. Is that what keeps you warm at night?"

"We all came to Omega on the same shuttle," Weaver said, blithely unaware of the ghost whispering behind Garrus. "Then we all ended up in the same apartment block. Turns out we like tech. And guns." She gave him a wide smile, her sharp face lit from within. "When we're done here, we're gonna go to the Citadel. Gonna open a store. I'll design the mods and the guys'll demo them." She sighed happily. "It's gonna be great. But only when we're done here. Don't worry, boss. We're all here, one hundred percent."

"I don't doubt it," he said. "Thanks for taking the time, Weaver."

"Hey, no problem, boss. Okay, gotta get these mods in."

Garrus waited until Weaver's footsteps faded, then twisted to glare at Shepard. She leaned back in her chair and gave him an innocent look.

"What? No judgment if that's what gets your motor running, Garrus." She crossed her legs. "What _does_ get Archangel go- oh please, stop trying to melt me with your laser eyes. It doesn't work."

"If only it did, then I'd have wrapped things up here months ago." As hard as he tried, he couldn't quite keep the frustration out of his voice. They were six months in and the fight never paused. He was getting tired.

She reached out, suddenly serious, and ran her hand down the length of his arm. "It'll get done, Garrus," she said, and twined her fingers with his. He took a deep breath and focused on how to fit their hands together.

* * *

Shepard had been gone for two days. Not that Garrus counted the hours.

Sidonis was on guard duty with Erash. Everyone else was sleeping when she came back, appearing in front of him without a sigh to signal her approach.

"I went to see my mom."

Garrus let his datapad clatter to his desk. "You what?"

"Yeah. She's good. Sad, but she's...okay. Dating some new guy, joined a _book club_." Shepard started to pace his room: seven steps forward, seven steps back.

"I - that's wonderful." He knew she went to see the others periodically, more from context clues than anything she directly admitted, but she came back from those visits quiet and relieved. Now she radiated tension, her eyes were red. "Wait. Have you been crying?"

"Oh, very smooth, Garrus, thanks for sparing my feelings," Shepard snapped. "You know I can still feel things, right? Like pain? So if I do this -" she yanked on her hair "- it hurts."

He stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. When he reached for her, Shepard knocked his hands away.

"I never really thought about it but I assumed being dead meant things wouldn't hurt anymore. Losing Ash, Akuze - none of it would matter. Joke's on me though, because it all hurts like hell."

Garrus waited until she stopped pacing. The next time he reached for her, Shepard let him put his hands on her shoulders.

"Shepard, talk to me."

She took a long moment to compose herself, eyes closed, with deep breaths. Her eyelashes were wet and clumped together when she looked up.

"When I saw my mom, she had this picture of me out, and she had this...candle in front of it. Mom was never really sentimental, but the candle -" She covered her mouth. "It's my birthday, Garrus."

He couldn't think of anything to say.

"I was going to be thirty," she said, and the bewildered way she shaped the words, like she still couldn't believe she was never getting any older, was more than he could stand. Garrus pulled her close.

Shepard called his name. Her voice was muffled.

"Garrus?"

Her head was tucked under his chin, his hand cradled her skull. Her voice was muffled because her mouth was pressed to the side of his neck. Garrus could feel her lips move against his skin. He let her go with a guilty smile.

"I think that's why no one wants to hug turians," he said. "We're terrible at it."

Shepard swiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Gold star for effort." She laughed, a little shaky. "Sorry for just... I don't know, freaking out on you like that. It still hits me at weird times."

"Don't apologize," he said. "I'm sorry I don't know how to help."

"You do," Shepard said fiercely. "God, you think I'm a mess now? Imagine me if I hadn't found you. No me without you, Garrus."

The air left his lungs like it had been kicked out of him. "You don't mean that."

"Oh, I do." She touched his face. He startled when her fingertips brushed his markings, cool and smooth. "Garrus, I want you to know -"

"Boss!" Sidonis' footsteps pounded up the stairs and Shepard jumped away from Garrus like she'd been burned. "Boss, picking up an Eclipse transmission - they've boarded an aid ship." Garrus bared his teeth. Every other month, some well-intentioned ship of idiots docked at Omega, ready to bring salvation. Too bad they never brought guns. The squad's room echoed with yells.

Garrus glanced at Shepard. She gave him a sharp nod.

"I'll be right behind you," she said. Without letting himself think about it too hard, he passed his hand over her hair, wishing he'd left his gloves off.

"Suit up!" he shouted. "We move in five."


	5. Chapter 5

It started going wrong when Melanis came out of cover a second too soon.

"Shit!" She stumbled back with a hand against her stomach. "Shit, shit, _shit!_"

"Erash!" Garrus roared over the clatter of rifle fire.

"On it, boss!" From the corner of his eye, Garrus saw an Eclipse engineer lean out of cover, shotgun pointed at Erash's back as the salarian knelt over Melanis. "Sidonis, cover him!"

Sidonis took a running leap out of cover, switching out thermal clips as he moved, and his first shot caught the engineer in the gut. The man howled and went to his knees, and Sidonis unloaded another two blasts into his face.

"Dropped him!"

There wasn't time to spare to give Sidonis a nod. Garrus peered around the edge of the crate and scanned the field.

"I count thirty left, give or take," Shepard hissed at his side. "They're coming from those two hallways, twelve o'clock and nine o'clock. No sign of mechs yet." Garrus nodded, eyes ahead.

"Erash! How's Melanis?"

"Medi-gel deployed. She's stable."

"Why is it Mie and I are always the ones bleeding out?" groaned Melanis. "Starting to regret signing up, boss."

"Just startin'?" bellowed Butler. He spun out of cover and raked SMG fire across two vanguards who looked like they were ready to charge. "I knew this was a bad idea from the beginnin'!"

"So why you'd sign up?" Weaver shouted over the comms.

"Not smart enough t' resist a fight - heads up, engineers incomin'!"

Garrus heard Weaver's dry chuckle and felt a spark of pity for the mercs. "I got this," she said. "Deploying combat drone!"

A short burst of blue light flared to the squad's left. The drone shot over their heads silently - one of Weaver's proudest moments had been designing a combat drone that didn't make_ that noise_ - and dropped into the center of the mercs.

"And three - two - one - cover your eyes!" Weaver screamed.

Nothing happened.

Garrus felt a cold trickle of dread start at the base of his spine. "Weaver," he said calmly. "I hope you've got more than some pretty lights for Eclipse."

"Oh god, fuck, sorry. They're trying to jam me. Rerouting systems."

"Just get it done, Weaver. Getting a little hairy down here. Mierin, make sure she has some breathing room."

"Got it, boss." There was a blister of sniper rifle fire above their heads, and two vanguards went down. "Switching to biotics, stand by for Singularity."

The sisters had learned to announce themselves whenever they used biotics; their powers were a liability if team members ran into the Stasis field meant for a merc. Garrus counted to five before he heard the steady _thwoom_ of the Singularity blossoming a few feet away.

"Thank the Maker for blue warrior goddesses," said Ripper.

"On behalf of a blue warrior goddess, you're welcome," grunted Melanis.

Garrus eased out of cover. The engineers and an unlucky vanguard hovered three feet off the ground, limbs waving like they were trapped underwater. He took a breath and lined up his first shot.

Five headshots in seven seconds. When he crouched down, Shepard was at his side, eyes hard.

"If you're going to pull out, Garrus, now's the time," said Shepard. "They've pulled off the aid ship and the crew is safe. Eclipse is down to half strength, but their engineers are prepping something big."

"Boss?" Weaver broke in. "Drone firewalls in place. Ready to deploy on your orders."

Leaving the Eclipse in this district at half strength was a victory, but breaking them completely was a crushing blow he couldn't resist. "Erash, is Melanis stable?"

"Yes, but I don't recommend we linger."

"I'm fine," snapped Melanis. "We can take them out, boss."

"Garrus," said Shepard. "You may not get another chance to pull back."

"Weaver, get ready to deploy on my mark. Sidonis, Ripper, I want you on our flanks. Anyone gets ideas, blow them apart."

"Garrus." Shepard said. "Trust me. Pull back now."

"Sensat, take point. Butler, Grundan -"

"On it, boss."

Garrus glanced to his side. Shepard met his eyes without expression.

"Weaver - on my mark. _Mark_."

"Combat drone deployed. Cover your eyes in three - two - _one_."

The white starburst seared through his eyelids. The combat drone was a mobile flashbang grenade, and it was effective. Very effective.

...against enemies who weren't sending in the mechs.

* * *

"LOKI mechs incoming!" Mierin's voice wavered through a burst of static. "Weaver's detecting jamming tech, they're trying to block our -" The static rattled over her voice, and the comms went dead.

"Fuck!" yelled Sidonis. "Boss, we've got waves of mechs approaching on either side."

Garrus jerked his head at Sensat. In unison, they leaned out of cover long enough to deploy Overload. There was an answering burst from overhead as Weaver echoed them.

"Mechs closing!" growled Grundan. Garrus switched to his assault rifle and shoved to his feet. Most of the mechs were down, shattered and twitching, but a handful were still approaching.

No time for regret, no time for should-haves. He had enough time to line up a shot, blink and drop back down behind cover. The ground rumbled, and he heard the heavy cough of an YMIR's guns. It was aiming over their heads, right at the window where Weaver and Mierin were hidden.

Butler let out a roar. "Heavy mech closin'!" He dug into a side pouch and primed a grenade. "Frag out!"

Garrus waited for the explosion. The floor shifted and for a horrible, unending second, he thought the crate between him and the mercs was about to fall. At the last moment, it righted itself and he leaned back against it. He risked a glance around, but Shepard was gone.

The distant snap-crack of Mierin's Mantis yanked him back. Relief crashed into him: Weaver and Mierin were still in the fight. But now the YMIR was focused on them, and there were still the rest of the LOKIs to deal with.

"Boss! Boss, I got through, the hack won't hold long but we're here." Weaver sounded, insanely, like she was having the time of her life.

"Pull back!" Garrus yelled over the gunfire. "I'm sending Erash and Melanis out. I want you to cover them - get a drone behind you."

Mierin squawked a protest that cut out in another burst of static. Garrus thought they had lost comms again, and Weaver's reply was almost buried by the sound of the YMIR's footsteps. "Now! Go!"

"Copy that, boss. On the move."

"I want covering fire - once Erash and Melanis are clear, we're pulling out!" _Should have listened, Shepard_, he let himself think, and turned to blast open another LOKI's chest.

"Boss, we're clear," Erash radioed. "Heading back to base via path 0103. See you there."

"Copy that. See you there. Sidonis, watch your flank!"

Sidonis pivoted smoothly on his heel and braced his shoulder against a pillar. The shotgun blast caught the LOKI in the head, and it tumbled to the ground only three feet from Garrus. He heard the beeps - just in time to know he couldn't move quickly enough.

The explosion of the mech blew apart the crate. His armor caught the worst of the blast, but enough pieces buried themselves in his neck and fringe to make every movement agony.

"_Garrus!_" Shepard appeared in his vision, face white under her freckles. She reached out to him. He tried to catch her hands but his balance was off and he kept missing.

"I'm fine," he told her. His blood coated his armor and the ground around him.

_Looks worse than it is, Shepard, neck wounds always bleed a lot but this isn't bad, not deep at all._ He tried to shape the words, but Shepard wasn't looking at him. Butler knelt next to him, already slicking medi-gel over his neck. Garrus tried again - Shepard had to know he was fine - but the numbness crept into his tongue and stopped the words in his mouth.

She wasn't looking at him. She was watching the YMIR, fists clenched and jaw set.

_You're not joining me. I won't let it happen._

"No, no," he groaned, and tried to sit up. Butler pushed him back down.

"Sh -" he managed to say, but she was gone.

Garrus closed his eyes. It was quiet. He couldn't hear the mechs anymore.

* * *

The next few hours were a little hazy, more from Butler's heavy hand with the medi-gel than his actual injuries. By the time they all - all of them - made it back to base, Garrus' injuries were mostly healed and all he had left was a headache. _That_ was thanks to Sidonis' constant apologies.

"For the last time," Garrus sighed. "Shut up, Sidonis."

"Boss, I -"

"For Spirits' sake, Sensat, get him out of here and put him to work, or I'm going to tear off his fringe."

"Wow, you're moody when you're hurt," said Weaver from the doorway. She and Grundan moved aside to let Sensat and Sidonis out. "Remind me never to shoot you in the face, boss."

"I didn't shoot him!" wailed Sidonis. "It was an accident, I'm sorry -" A door mercifully slammed shut between him and Garrus. Weaver hid a laugh behind her hand. Garrus flexed his mandibles at her.

"Erash says I missed a party," she said. "You got blown up. Butler was about to hit the YMIR with another grenade to get you out when all the mechs just - stopped. Like, just dropped where they were standing. How'd you do it? Semi-localized EMP? Scrambled Overload to diffuse over a wider radius?"

"I was too busy bleeding to notice," Garrus answered. "Sorry to disappoint."

Weaver looked heartbroken. "No one can tell me what happened," she pouted.

Garrus groaned. "Why are you still here? Don't you have some tech to mangle?"

Weaver shrugged. "Erash is using my work bench to finish patching up Melanis." She frowned. "If he gets blood all over my gear, I'll kill him."

Garrus swallowed and grimaced. His neck ached. "Better go check."

Weaver rolled her eyes. "I can take a hint, boss. Holler if you need us. I promise not to let them send Sidonis." She shut the door on her way out. Garrus adjusted his pillows to support his carapace and stared at the ceiling.

"You were right." She didn't say anything. "Now's the time for the _I told you so's_ that you humans are so fond of."

He turned to look at Shepard's chair when she still wouldn't reply.

It had been empty for the last four hours.


	6. Chapter 6

"I gave them the week off, Shepard," said Garrus. "Melanis is going to be out for a few days, and we're - I'm a little rattled. Need to rest before we go back out there." He pushed his datapad aside. "Maybe they'll think we gave up. Or got killed. Big surprise when we come back, right? Till then, it's just general patrols."

Monteague stopped outside his door. "Who the fuck are you talking to, boss?" he asked cheerfully.

"Just thinking out loud, Monteague." Garrus braced his hand on his desk and turned around. "You're not on patrol for the next two days. What are you hanging around for?"

"Oh, just grabbing my gear before Ripper and I take Sidonis to the shooting range. Got a bet going - three hundred credits says Ripper's a better shot than Sidonis." He waggled his eyebrows at Garrus. "Want in, boss? Good way to get revenge for the whole shrapnel thing."

"Ah, thanks, but duty calls." He gestured vaguely at the datapads littering his desk.

"You got shot to shit two days ago and you're still working?" Monteague whistled. "Well, if you change your mind and want to watch me relieve Sidonis of some credits, you know where to find us." He sketched a salute and headed down the hall while Garrus waited for his heart to stop pounding.

He was getting careless if his squad could catch him talking to Shepard.

"Too close," he said. "I'll have to be quieter."

Shepard didn't answer. She'd been gone for twenty-seven hours.

* * *

"Boss! Hey, hey boss!"

Garrus looked up. Weaver beamed at him from his door, Melanis at her side. Something dark and foul-smelling covered Weaver's hands.

"Butler's taking me and Sensat and Grundan and the sisters home for dinner. He said that you should come because Nalah worked with turians so she can cook dextro."

"Any reason why Butler didn't come to invite me himself?"

"He said we were cuter, so we'd be better at convincing you." Weaver's grin got even wider. "He's totally right, you know."

"Half right. You go on ahead. Thank Nalah for me, I've got work here."

Weaver glanced at Melanis. She shrugged. Garrus pretended not to notice.

"Are you sure, boss? You're the only one who hasn't gone anywhere except for patrols..."

"Weaver -"

"I know, I know, not my business, but you're not turning into like, a creepy hermit, are you?"

Garrus gave her a baleful look. Weaver stepped back, hands up and palm-out.

"Point taken, we're leaving. Sorry for bugging you." Melanis disappeared down the hall, Weaver on her heels.

"It's fine. Tell Butler his concern is appreciated, but his tactics were a little obvious." If Weaver heard the rest of his sentence, she didn't respond. "And wash your hands!" he yelled as an afterthought.

_You're not her father, Garrus, but you sure as hell sound like you are._

"You used to sound like that around Tali," he said. "It's hard not to. She's young."

_The first time we saw Tali, she was blowing up mercs._

"And Weaver can hack any system you put in front of her." He pulled off his visor and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Where the hell are you, Shepard?"

"Garrus?"

He jumped. Sidonis stared guiltily at him from the doorway.

"I, uh, I was just going to my bunk and I heard you talking. Everything all right?"

"I'm fine, Sidonis."

"Talking to yourself is generally a sign of insanity," said Sidonis. He tried for levity and missed it by a few kilometers. Garrus forced himself to look up.

"Whoa, your face," Sidonis shrank back. "I mean - I've never seen you without your visor. The squad took bets on it. Vortash says you sleep with it on."

The urge to bury his head in his hands was overwhelming. Seventy-four hours, and Shepard was still gone.

"Look, I know you already chased Weaver out of here, but she had a point. You've been here or on patrol since the Eclipse fight. It's...weird." Garrus heard the hum of embarrassment rise and fall under Sidonis' words. If Sidonis moved closer, he'd be able to smell the embarrassment too.

"Not a very turian response to a superior's behavior, Sidonis. Since when do you call me Garrus?"

"We're both terrible turians, in case you hadn't noticed." Sidonis nodded at Shepard's chair. "Can I?"

Garrus nodded and tried to ignore how final it felt to see someone other than Shepard take her seat. Sidonis, at least, had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

"It's not my place, but it seems like you're carrying around a lot of -"

"You're right," Garrus bit out. "It's not your place, and if you're about to say what I think you are, reconsider."

"You were talking to her," said Sidonis. "To Shepard. You asked her where she was."

_"Sidonis."_

"I did the same thing when my brother died." Garrus froze. Sidonis stared at a stain on the floor. "For months. It got so I thought he'd actually talk back. He never did. I had to make myself stop after a while, because waiting to hear him was...once someone's gone, they're gone."

"You're not telling me anything new."

"I know I'm not. I'm just trying to tell you that it's not surprising. But don't stay in one place and hope they'll show up." Sidonis finally looked up and gave Garrus the saddest smile he'd ever seen. "Take it from me, it's a waste of time."

Garrus waited for something to say, but nothing came. He nodded. Sidonis pushed himself out of Shepard's chair.

"Now that I've overshared, I'm going. Monteague cleaned me out, so it's the shittiest booze in the shittiest dive for me. And don't worry. I know better than to ask if you want to come."

He left Garrus to stare at Shepard's chair.

Seventy-five hours.

* * *

"You're starting to worry me. I have a policy against worrying about you, but that's when I can see you and know you're about to lay waste to everyone in your way. Right now? Right now I can't see you, Shepard."

Garrus spoke into the curve of his arm, as quietly as he could. One hundred thirty four hours had gone by. He'd spent the last three of them in bed, trying to sleep and failing. In seven hours, the squad would wake up and start planning their next steps.

And Shepard would not be back.

One hundred thirty four hours, three minutes.

He pulled off his visor.

"Do you want an apology for not listening to you?"

Silence.

"Dammit, Shepard." He kicked off his covers. "Where are you? Did you _leave_?"

"Not willingly."

Shepard stood in the middle of his room, smiling at him with dull eyes.

"Shepard, Spirits!" Her gaze locked on his face. The skin around her eyes and mouth was white and cold.

"Hey, Garrus." Her smile twitched and shuddered away. "Did I wake you?"

There was nothing right about this. Shepard was supposed to come back and yell at him for risking his squad. She was supposed to tell him what he did wrong. She wasn't supposed to come back with half-vacant eyes and no color in her face.

"Shepard, where did you -" He couldn't finish the sentence. She blinked at him and tried the smile again.

"Where did I go?" She made a vague gesture with her hands. "Over the hills and far away."

He pushed out of bed when Shepard swayed. The moment before he touched her arm, Shepard's eyes snapped up to his face. Her mouth twisted, her fingers bent into hooks. Garrus felt an absurd, powerful relief when she rounded on him

"You idiot," she spat.

Garrus' hands dropped to his sides.

"You had the chance to get out, and you didn't take it. Your squad could have died and you just had to keep fighting. Damn turian honor, can't let anyone see your back until you're _dead_. Good thing you had me around so nobody _living_ had to pay for your screw-up."

He had been ready for her to be angry, but not bitter and riding rough-shod over all his self-doubt. Shepard had never been one to personalize criticism before, but she'd never been so brittle and uncontrolled either. Wherever she had been -

Garrus stopped himself before he could imagine it.

"It's not about honor," he tried to protest, but she cut him off with a slash of her arm.

"I don't care what it's about. This isn't the first time someone ignored me when I said it was time to go. And we all know what happened on Akuze."

_Spirits_.

Shepard's mouth twisted, hot fury in every line of her face, but when she tried to speak, nothing came out but a bleak, high whine. She slumped down, all the strings cut, and her anger went out like a candle flame crushed between two fingers.

"Akuze," she murmured. "I didn't see them while I was gone." She laughed, a sound too bright for the empty look on her face. "Glad I didn't."

"Hey," Garrus choked out and closed the distance between them. She made a tiny noise when he touched her face and lifted her chin. He kept his touch light, ready to back away if her anger flared again, but she leaned toward him instead. When a minute passed and she didn't pull away, Garrus traced the scar at her mouth with his thumb.

A shiver rippled through her. "Yes," she said. "Don't stop. Makes it easier to find the way."

Her skin was clammy under his palms. She leaned forward until her entire weight rested against him. Her hands slid up to link behind his neck.

"Was I gone long?" He swallowed.

"Five days, give or take," he said, because it was better than saying _one hundred thirty four hours, ten minutes, and I felt them all_. Shepard shivered again.

"It felt a lot longer," she sighed, shallow and thin. "I didn't want to leave, Garrus. I can promise you that. I couldn't help it." She lifted her head. "I got out as soon as I could."

He stared at the still-white skin around her eyes and thought, _Not soon enough_.

* * *

Nothing in Garrus' experience gave him any idea how to proceed. Shepard seemed content to lean against him and let his warmth seep into her. The cool, soft line of her body curved against his, and he was glad that his armor was stacked in its case.

"Shepard -"

She hummed with her cheek pressed against his carapace.

"Shepard, how -" Garrus felt her wince.

_Don't ask me how._How_hurts too much. _

"Forget I asked," he said. "What can I do?"

"At the risk of sounding painfully melodramatic, just holding me is fine." She stepped away, her hands sliding reluctantly over his cowl. "But I understand if you want to sleep."

"Well." He coughed, and she raised an eyebrow. The thought of the past five days weighed on him, and he took a leap. "At the risk of sounding like a bad vid, the bed is big enough for two."

Garrus let the thin web of implications hang in the air. Time to see if they were strong enough to support themselves. After a moment's thought, Shepard nodded.

"Okay. Bed."

Neither of them moved.

"You first," she said. "It's your bed, after all." When she tried to smile, it looked almost normal. Her lips were chapped and bloodless, but something sparked in her eyes, like an internal engine restarting. Every moment he watched, she looked more like herself and less like -

_Don't say it, not even in your own head._

He closed his hands around Shepard's wrists and pulled her after him. They stumbled and fell together, with Garrus landing on his back and Shepard sprawled on top of him. She rolled on her side, her back against the wall. Her hand brushed his waist on the way to his cowl, and his eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat.

"You're warm," she said, and pressed closer. "So warm. I thought I wouldn't be warm again."

Even through her clothes, Garrus felt the chill that had settled on her like a second skin. She had no smell at all, not even metal or sweat. He ran a hand down her forearm.

"I have a theory about all this," Shepard murmured, but didn't elaborate. He gave in to temptation and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Theory?"

"Mhm."

Silence swallowed them whole, warm and peaceful.

Garrus didn't know how he should feel with Shepard's body slowly warming against his. He was sure it wasn't supposed to be mad exhilaration, every breath electric in his lungs.

"I think it's you," she said.

"You what - me?" He tried to crane his head to look at Shepard, but all he saw were her fingertips trailing sweetly over the edge of his cowl.

"You're the only who can see me or talk to me, Garrus. The day I died, the first place I ended up was in your apartment. If there's a reason why I came back, I don't know what it is. But I know that when I'm near you, I'm closer to how I was." Shepard made a disgusted noise and twisted her fingers in her hair. "God. I'm terrible at explaining this. Too bad there isn't a beacon that can just zap the answer into my head."

"Because that worked out so well before." As hard as he tried, Garrus couldn't keep the pleased thrum out of his voice. It buzzed in his chest and filled the air around them, even after his words were gone. "Don't do that again. Call it an order if that makes it easier."

"Insubordinate."

"Shepard." She looked up, high rich color in her cheeks. "Please. I worry about you. That's all I'm saying."

Garrus braced himself for her standard deflection, and was completely unprepared when she pulled herself up by his shoulders and pressed her mouth to his.

She sighed into him, and for one second he felt the heat of her mouth, the warmest part of her body. Then she stiffened and pulled away, covering her mouth with a hand.

"Oh God, Garrus. I'm sorry, that was -"

His kiss was clumsy, more a bump than an actual kiss, but he knew, gut-deep, that this was the best way to reassure her. They were better with action than words. When she trembled and pushed against him, he closed his eyes and tried to remember to breathe.

* * *

Shepard was staring at him when he woke up. She turned away guiltily, but a smile tugged at her mouth.

"I can see that going from sweet to scary very quickly," he told her.

She tried to hide her laugh in a pillow. "Sorry," she said. "Didn't mean to creep you out."

"I could get used to it." After a moment's pause, he cradled the back of her head in his hand and pressed their foreheads together. He lingered over the touch, long enough to feel Shepard sling an arm over his carapace.

"Let me guess, that's a turian kiss."

"Lucky guess. Or were your alien civ classes that much more thorough than mine?"

Shepard laughed again, and when he rumbled in response, she pressed the pads of her fingers to his neck. "Do that again," she said. He rolled his eyes but obliged.

"Whoa." Shepard blinked at him. "That's... a lot more intense than I thought it would be. You really do have a whole sub-vocabulary with those, don't you?"

Garrus let a long, rolling affirmative vibrate against her fingers.

"I take it that's a yes?"

"Another lucky guess."

"Such a smart ass."

"Better than being a dumb ass, right?"

"You're spending too much time around humans. You're picking up on all our bad habits and terrible slang." Shepard propped herself up on her elbow and trailed a finger over the edge of his mandible.

Garrus hummed with pleasure. If he never had to leave this bed again, he wouldn't be sorry. "Not all your habits are terrible. There are a few I really like."

"Oh yeah?" Shepard smirked at him. "Like wh-"

Kissing was going to be very useful.

The sounds of his squad hitting the showers and searching for breakfast reminded Garrus that there was a world outside his room, a world that badly needed Archangel and his talents. He sat up with a groan. Behind him, Shepard sighed and ran her hands through her hair. The silence was an expectant one, and Garrus knew Shepard was ready to tell him what had happened.

"I sabotaged the mechs," Shepard said. Typical for Shepard, she didn't waste time on an introduction. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "I knew you guys wouldn't be able to get out before the YMIR got there. So I fried its friend/foe identifier. Reached right into its casing, like it wasn't even there. And then I overloaded the LOKIs' CPUs, same way. It worked, but I couldn't hold on. I pushed too hard."

"Because of me."

"Because you made a bad call." She turned on her side. "I'm still mad as hell at you. But if it comes down to it, I'd do the same thing again, Garrus."

"Don't." Garrus felt cold. "These last five days - what if you push yourself too far and you can't come back?"

Shepard lifted her chin. "I'll always come back, Garrus. Isn't that obvious by now?"

"Don't. No sabotaging mechs, no trying to attack someone because I got hit. I just - have to be smarter."

Shepard nodded and laid back, her hair fanning over the pillow. "So, you want me to stick around?"

The first and truest answer was _Yes, of course, I'm greedy_. He was trying to think of a more diplomatic way to phrase it when someone pounded on the door.

"Ready when you are, boss," said Erash from the other side.

* * *

**A/N: I just want to thank everyone again for reading, for following, and for reviewing! This story has grown in ways I can't imagine, and it's only going to get bigger. So please, tell me what you think! Reviews are food for my brain. **

**Most importantly, thanks to my lovely beta, who deals with all my insistence on riding the Angst Train with grace. **


	7. Chapter 7

The squad was ready to crawl back into bed at the slightest sign from Garrus. Mierin looked heartbroken when he came into the room in full armor.

"Careful, Garrus. It looks like they'll mutiny if you try to make them work." Shepard closed her hand around his wrist. "Shouldn't have let them sit around for a week." Through some weird emotional alchemy, Shepard had decided to transmute her anger into being a smart-ass. Garrus almost preferred her pissed-off.

"Look at you," he said to the squad. "I don't think I've seen anyone look more pathetic. It's like you had your break taken _away_."

"Screw you," Weaver said cheerfully. She huddled over a steaming mug of coffee. "_Boss_."

A low wave of laughter moved through the squad, but when Garrus held up a hand, everyone went quiet.

"Show-off," said Shepard. She sat down on a crate with her back against the wall. Garrus felt her gaze on the back of his head.

"I hope you all enjoyed the break," he said. "Because it's back to work, and don't think for a second it's going to get any easier. The mercs are mad now, and that's just the trouble next door."

"What do we have on deck, boss?" Sensat leaned forward. "Hitting Eclipse again?"

"Depends on how bad they've been." Garrus nodded at Weaver. She dug under her leg for a datapad, then cleared her throat.

"Eclipse is laying low - taking out their mechs was a big deal, and please tell me you're gonna let me know how it happened, it's almost my birthday - and it's just the usual bullshit from the Blood Pack. Garm's making noises _again_ about pushing out Aria, but even he's not stupid enough to actually try it. Blue Suns made a move on one of the clinics in the Gozu district, but the salarian in charge wiped out the scouting parties." She tossed the datapad on the table. "All quiet on the merc front."

Vortash snorted. "All that noise about how no system can keep you out, and that's all you have for us? I could have just walked into Afterlife and figured it all out."

"He has a point, Weaver," said Garrus. "Anything else?"

"That's just the merc news. Do you really think I'd show up with nothing else?" Weaver wrinkled her nose at Vortash. "I find your lack of faith... disturbing."

All the humans, Shepard included, started to laugh. The non-humans traded indulgent looks. _Oh, our humans are being weird again._

"Since the merc channels were so boring, I did a couple sweeps through the off-station comm logs. Nothing too interesting - well, Udina's on Omega, getting his fill of slumming it for the month - until yesterday, when I found this." She pulled another datapad from under her leg and handed it to Garrus. While he read, Weaver turned to the rest of the squad.

"C-Sec's been trying to track down an independent krogan slaver for three years. He deals mostly in children, stolen from Terminus colonies, but lately he's been dipping into Citadel space too. He funnels them through the wards before selling them off. Kron Harga's his name. And the terrifying icing on this nightmare cupcake is that he's rumored to be a krogan biotic." Sensat groaned with a fist pressed to his mouth.

"The biotic thing isn't true," said Ripper. Grundal nodded. "But he's vicious enough as-is. Half the slaves don't make it to the Citadel. And the ones that do? Jesus." He shook his head.

"They're better off dead," Grundal muttered. "Slavery is salvation compared to what he does to them."

Garrus's hands tightened on the edge of the datapad. "He's here," he said. "On Omega. About to head out to hit another colony."

_This_ was why Garrus come to Omega. No red tape to hold him back, no regulations to stifle his creativity. Sooner or later, every criminal who'd ever slipped past him at C-Sec would wash up on Omega, and his finger would already be on the trigger.

Archangel would be ready. _They_ would be ready.

"Listen up!" The squad's eyes snapped to him. "Kron's going to have back-up, but they're nothing to worry about. Mostly mechs and vorcha. Kron himself? He survived a full-on C-Sec raid, and took out twenty-three officers before they lost him in the wards."

"Good thing we're not C-Sec," said Monteague. He cracked his knuckles. "What's our plan, boss?"

"Yeah, boss," said Shepard. "What's our plan?"

* * *

He chose Sensat and Ripper for his squad, and Butler, Vortash, and Sidonis for the second. Monteague would come as support. He would hang back and patch up whichever squad wasn't directly engaged with Kron.

"He regenerates like any other krogan, but he moves faster than most. The important thing is to keep him at a distance so he can't charge while we take down his shields."

"You don't want us, boss?" Melanis picked at the remains of her breakfast. "Singularity could be useful."

"I'm more concerned with his shields. Once they're down, we can wear him out." Melanis gave Garrus a steady look. He knew she needed more time before she was in top shape again, and she knew it too, but he wouldn't say it in front of the squad. "You're on home duty with Grundal." The batarian tried not to look overjoyed and failed. "Erash, you're in charge of the back-up squad. You'll wait in D block until my word. Hopefully we won't need _creative_ firepower, but if you've got any surprises, get them ready." Erash and Weaver slid out of their seats and bent over Weaver's workbench, sorting through piles of tech. Erash picked out a small sphere that glinted wickedly in the overhead lights, and Weaver nodded eagerly.

"I don't think I want to know," said Shepard, watching them. "Do you want me with you, Garrus?"

The answer was _yes, always_, but after last night, the question was even more loaded. There was more between them now than a common fight - a _more_ they hadn't yet discussed or defined. Worrying about Shepard was only a disadvantage.

"I'll watch the perimeter and point out strays," she said. "No physical contact, not even if I'm in your immediate vicinity. I can move faster than anyone you've got, and a few seconds' warning could be the only advantage you get."

Garrus sighed. "Fine," he murmured. "No heroics, or you're off the squad."

"Got it, boss." Shepard grinned. "Ready when you are."

* * *

Erash and Weaver weren't the only ones with a creative streak. As Garrus stood over what was left of Kron Harga, Shepard sidled up to him and let out a low whistle.

"I know krogan are tough to kill but...wow, Garrus. Just _wow._"

The rest of the squad were sweeping the warehouse, and out of earshot.

"The crate full of explosives was pure luck," he said. "Thanks for finding it, by the way."

"I live to serve. Let me make sure I've got it right. You shot him in all his extremities and primary organs."

"In alphabetical order."

"Then you and Ripper took turns smashing your rifle butts in his face."

"Who am I to hog all the fun?"

"Then yours truly pointed out the explosive crate, the second squad got him into position, and whatever you didn't shoot got burned to a crisp."

"I think that covers it. Couldn't have done it without you."

Shepard poked Kron Harga's body with the toe of her boot. "I think you need a hobby, Garrus. Maybe painting."

"Oi boss!" Butler waved at him from across the warehouse. "Found his personal datapads. They're encrypted, but I don't think our wee Weaver'll have much trouble."

"You could write haiku. Or sonnets." Shepard winked at him.

"Good work, Butler. Tell Weaver decrypting them is her top priority, and once it's finished, I want an anonymous copy sent to C-Sec and the Alliance. If Kron Harga kept records of what colonies he hit, they might be able to help close some missing persons cases."

"Right-o." Butler stashed the datapads in a pocket and went on with his sweep.

"Baking," said Shepard. "You could have your own extranet show."

He let out an exasperated subvocal that couldn't be defined in human terms. Most humans wouldn't have been able to hear it, but Shepard caught the tail end of it and frowned up at him.

"I'm sure I'm missing the finer details, but that was something rude, wasn't it?"

He lifted his brow plates and didn't answer.

"We're all clear, boss." Sidonis started jogging back to Garrus. "Picked up some extra medi-gels and mods."

"Found an arseload of credits stashed all over the place," Butler shouted. "Jesus, krogans really are hoarders, aren't they?"

Garrus nodded, waiting until the rest of the squad joined him. Shepard crowded close and he tried to ignore the bubble of warmth expanding in his chest.

If this was the rest of his life, he wouldn't complain. He had a good squad, a good gun, a good fight.

He had _Shepard_.

* * *

Things were a bit of a blur after that. The squad split up to take their separate ways back to base, and by the time Garrus arrived, Butler was already into the ryncol, and had reached a decibel level to match.

"What a bastard. Didn't even wait for the boss to get back before he started the party," said Shepard, and Garrus had enough time to start laughing before almost seven feet of scarred, shouting human was bearing down on him like a dreadnought.

"Boss!" he roared. "Boss, tonight, we drink on Kron Harga's dime! Get outta yer suit, we're goin' to Afterlife." Behind Butler, Sensat beamed. _Fuck yeah,_he mouthed.

Erash and Sidonis pounded him on the back, shouting unintelligibly. Melanis shoved a mug of ryncol at him. Somewhere nearby, Weaver was yelling at someone that she was _totally old enough to drink, dickwipe_, _I'm not staying here_ and Vortash had an arm slung around Mierin's shoulders, completely failing at hiding his joy.

A great hot swell of pride and love washed through Garrus. Ten months into the fight, and it wouldn't end any time soon. But tonight was the first time they all saw the end - when they could walk away from Omega knowing that they'd not just done their best, but _won. _

* * *

Afterlife was packed. It smelled like sweat and old booze and somewhere, deep down under all of it, like the tang of blood.

Garrus hung back with Shepard, marking exits and good cover out of habit. Butler and Sidonis bulldozed their way to the bar, throwing down credit chits and yelling drink orders. The bartender's gaze flicked above their heads.

"No charge," he said. "You guys drink for free tonight. Aria's orders."

Butler whooped and pointed at a bottle of something thick and poisonously orange. Garrus turned slowly, once the rest of his squad was distracted, and looked up at Aria's balcony.

The asari was watching him. Their gazes met, and Aria lifted her glass to him without changing her expression. A second later, his omni-tool beeped.

_Nice show. Make sure your ambition doesn't outlast your entertainment value. I have a short attention span._

"That's not creepy," said Shepard, standing on tiptoes to read over his shoulders.

Of course Aria knew, and of course Aria wouldn't do more than warn him. He'd left her concerns alone, and as long as he did, she'd just watch.

Sensat handed him a glass of something murky and sweet-smelling. Garrus lifted the glass to Aria. She barely glanced at him before she turned away.

* * *

Garrus stayed for three rounds, long enough to see Sidonis collapse on a couch after trying to match shots with Butler. Guilt over leaving Ripper and Weaver behind on home duty gnawed at him, but the real teeth belonged to the looks Shepard gave him whenever he took a drink: sly, secretive, and all his.

He stood up. A chorus of boos from the squad greeted him and four new glasses were shoved in his direction. None of them were dextro-friendly, but the message was clear: _stay, stay, stay, stay._

"If I don't leave, how can the real party start?" he said, evading Melanis as she tried to catch his arm. "Consider this my gift to all of you."

"Boss!" whined Mierin. "We haven't gotten you your lapdance yet!"

Shepard burst out laughing. "Oh my god, Garrus, your _face._ We can't leave. I have to see this."

"Aah, no. Just... no." Garrus wasn't sure who he was responding to. "I appreciate the... obvious thought that went into - wait, no, I don't. No. I'm leaving."

Melanis grabbed for his arm again and ended up tumbling over a half-conscious Vortash. "Boss!" she yelled. "Asari are _very flexible._ Do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand, I just. I can't. There are... things."

"I was right!" crowed Mierin. "Secret wife! Or husband! Pay up!" Grundal and Erash reached into their pockets, grumbling. Mierin cooed as she counted her winnings.

"Last time I bet against an asari," sighed Erash.

"Damn right," chorused the sisters.

Shepard, damn her, was laughing so hard she could barely stand. "These people," she gasped, "are amazing. Where did you find them? I thought the Normandy's collection of daddy issues was impressive but this? This is _art_."

"Make sure everyone makes it home," Garrus growled at the sisters, who were the only two left who looked completely sober. "Got me? We're back to business at 0700 tomorrow."

"We get you," said Mierin, her eyes still on the credits in her cupped palms. "See you in the morning, boss."

Garrus stalked out, neck flaming hot. Still giggling, Shepard trailed behind him. Once they were away from the noise and the lights near Omega, in the darker alleys of the districts, Garrus grabbed Shepard by the shoulders and pushed her into a wall.

"I'm happy you're happy, but could you at least _pretend_ you don't enjoy seeing me embarrassed?"

She wriggled in his grip. "Oh come on, Garrus. They're just looking out for you. Well, for _part_of you."

_"Shepard."_

"Does being on your squad mean I can't laugh at you? Let me tell you, that's a dealbreaker." Shepard gripped his wrists and squeezed. "Consider this payback for all the Mako jokes."

"You deserved every one, Shepard. I still have bruises on my ass from your driving."

Shepard ran her hand up his arm. "And you never begged off a mission if I pulled you. Maybe you're a just a glutton for punishment."

"Maybe you're just a sadist who enjoys torturing non-humans."

"Just one," she said. Her hand curled around the back of his neck and stroked once, under the clasp of his visor. Her grin turned wicked when he shuddered and let her go.

"Weren't we going home?" she asked, all innocence. "You had important boss things to do, right? Like cleaning your gun?" Her fingers skidded low over the skin of his neck.

_Damn her. She knows exactly what she's doing_.

She tilted her head and bared the side of her neck to the weak light. _To my teeth_, Garrus thought, and banished the idea as quickly as he could. He couldn't stop a groan when her hand slid under his jaw.

"I can't exactly think when you do that," he said, only one larynx working. Was it too soon? Should he even bother questioning this?

Laughing, Shepard leaned in close enough to kiss. She stopped a few centimeters away from his mouth. "It's not my fault you're so easily distracted." When she stepped away, he stumbled.

"Race you," she hissed, and took off down the alley. By the time Garrus got his feet moving, Shepard was already out of sight.

* * *

Ripper nodded sleepily at Garrus as he came in. Weaver was asleep on the couch, a frown still nicking the skin between her eyebrows.

"She told me to wake her up when you got home so she could yell at you," said Ripper. "But I think I'll just tell her you came in the back door."

"Thanks, Ripper. Listen, I'll be awake for a while. Go find your boyfriend."

Ripper saluted him. "Don't have to tell me twice. Good night, boss." After he was gone, Garrus threw a blanket over Weaver and turned down the lights in the common room.

Shepard was cross-legged on his bed. Her boots were off. Garrus stared.

"What?" she asked. He pointed wordlessly at her feet.

"Do my toes freak you out?"

"You took your boots off." Iit was a stupid thing to fixate on, when Shepard was in the nest of his covers, but there were _implications_ here. He hadn't thought of her clothes as anything more than a part of whatever she was, but _now_.

"Yeah, I did." She cocked her head at him again. "Point?"

"I didn't think you could do that. Change what you look like. I don't know!"

"Oh my god, it's not like I took my shirt off."

And just like that, the implications were images. "You can do that too?"

"Right to business, huh? I've been back all of twenty-four hours and you're already trying to get into my pants."

"No! No!" Garrus threw up his hands. "It's not that! I just - _why are you laughing?"_

"I'm going to sprain something trying not to tease you." Shepard pushed off the bed and walked toward him. He kept his hands up, but when she pulled them down her face was serious. "Garrus, I've got to ask. You've done this before, right?"

"Done what?"

"You're going to make me say it, dammit." She chewed her lip. "You've had - girlfriends before? Or the turian equivalent? Please tell me your first experience with sex isn't going to be with a ghost. Because that would be the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"I've had sex before," he hissed. "There were a few in training, and then this recon scout, and once, on Illium -"

"Whoa whoa whoa! I believe you!" It was Shepard's turn to throw up her hands and take a step back. "Why can't anything ever be easy?" she said, half to herself. "Okay, ground rule number one: If your ex-human girlfriend asks about your previous relationships, mention one or two _at most_, and never give details. It's not a numbers game."

"O-okay." He couldn't remember the last time he felt so badly unprepared for a conversation. Hadn't they been talking about boots a few seconds ago? "Wait, girlfriend? Shepard, I -"

"Hey. Look at me." Shepard put her hands on his face, her thumbs moving in slow circles over his mandibles. "I'm sorry if I weirded you out. I'm jumping ahead. I'm used to falling into bed with someone and figuring the rest out later if the sex is good." She cringed. "Ugh, too much information?"

"No, I'm used to full disclosure." _Not to mention turians don't have all these territorial mating instincts over the past._

"Good to know." She kept touching his face, and the tension building in his back started to dissolve. "So do you?" she said. "Want this, I mean. When I came back last night, things were intense. Not that you've had much time to think it over. And I'm going to shut up now."

It was reassuring that nervous talking existed across the species line. Whatever they had started, Shepard was just as thrown by it as he was. Garrus cupped her face, tracing the scars at her eye and mouth.

"I never let myself think about it before you found me here, but yeah, I want it." She leaned into his touch. "Besides, if you have to spend your afterlife with me, might as well get a few perks out of it, right?"

"Don't get cocky, I haven't gotten to try these perks out." She kissed his cheek. "Look, we'll take this as slow as you want. The last thing I want is to push you and get you all distracted. You've got enough on your mind."

"You had to go and remind me," he groaned. "I'm on patrol in four hours."

"Then go to bed," she said. "I'll stare at you while you sleep."

When Garrus laughed, it felt like the first time in years.

* * *

"I'm not speaking to you," said Weaver the next morning. "Just so we're clear."

"Good morning to you too, Weaver." Garrus brushed past her on his way to grab rations.

"_Strippers_, boss. Strippers! And you made me stay home. God, you're not my _dad_."

"I give daily thanks for that. I want a report on any comm chatter you picked up before we head out." As much as Weaver liked whining, she never complained about her actual job. She gave him a nod and finished off her coffee in one gulp.

"I hope I wasn't that bad when I was her age," Shepard mused. "I don't know about turians, but eighteen-year-old humans are a special breed of monster."

"Teenagers are monsters, no matter the species. Maybe Sovereign was just hitting Reaper puberty."

"Still talking to yourself?" Sidonis bit off the end of a ration bar and chewed while he talked. He looked wrecked, but _wrecked_ was better than what Garrus had expected after a night of drinking with Butler. He hadn't expected Sidonis to be able to talk.

"Still," Garrus said agreeably, turning away to avoid watching Sidonis eat. Most of the squad lacked sophisticated manners, but Sidonis was the worst. "Can't seem to stop."

"You could use that," suggested Sidonis. "Let the mercs overhear you. They'll think you're crazy."

"Why haven't you thought of that?" Shepard leaned against the wall and quirked an eyebrow at Garrus. "You just came to Omega and started fighting mercs on your own. Nothing crazy about that."

"Shut up," said Garrus, not sure who he was talking to. Shepard rolled her eyes. Sidonis laughed.

"Just like that. When in doubt, freak 'em out."

"Sidonis, _shut up._" He walked away, leaving Sidonis to chuckle to himself. The rest of the squad straggled in, looking half-dead and searching for painkillers. Butler looked like he'd had ten hours of sleep instead of two.

"I want him to meet Wrex someday," said Shepard. "No, actually, I don't. Forget I said that. Lifetime of brain damage talking."

Garrus nodded at Weaver to start her report. Halfway through the rundown, Shepard let her hand curve around his neck, cool and solid.

* * *

As always, thank you to my lovely beta, and to you, my wonderful readers!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Fair warning - the rating for this story is going up, due to a somewhat explicit adult situation at the end.

* * *

The metaphysics of the situation were beyond either of them, but the facts were simple.

Fact: Shepard had died.

Fact: Shepard had come back.

Fact: Shepard had come back _to him_.

Garrus tried to decode what it all meant, but that meant less time existing in the present - and since his present contained enough to fill his head and more, he stopped caring about the _why_ and _how_, and focused on _who_.

* * *

Three day after taking down Kron Harga, Garrus had been on Omega almost eleven months.

He woke up alone. That wasn't unusual; Shepard rambled while he slept and reported back when he woke up for his pre-dawn watch.

It took a glance at his omni-tool and seeing the date before he realized why she was gone.

It was all over the extranet again.

_Commander Shepard, hero of the Citadel, died one year ago today..._

He dressed slowly and tried to figure out a way to apologize when she came back, and didn't think about any _what-ifs_.

* * *

Halfway through his watch, Shepard reappeared. The look on her face - sharp, pensive, absorbed - cut clean through the apology he'd planned.

"I'm going to ask you a weird question, Garrus."

"Uh, right. Go ahead?" He shifted and got a better grip on his rifle.

"Did you see my body? At the funeral? Or an urn, if they cremated me?"

At the time, the last thing Garrus had wanted to pay attention to was Shepard's body, or the lack thereof. He forced himself to remember.

"There wasn't anything. Well, there were flowers, and a whole lot of singing and some speeches, but there was just a picture of you at the front of the room. No. I didn't see it. You. Your body. They didn't even have a coffin."

Shepard nodded and ran her fingers through her hair. Garrus wanted to touch her, but the waves of nervous energy rising off her body kept him at a distance.

"I went to Alchera. It seemed like a good idea. First anniversary of being dead, why not go visit where it happened? God, I'm morbid sometimes. But I went. Worst trip I've made."

Garrus had wanted to warn her away from Alchera. Going there felt like she would stretch whatever tied them together to the thinnest thread, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I - my body - wasn't there." She chewed her lip and stared over his shoulder.

"The Alliance came, Shepard. They wouldn't leave your body there."

"That's the weird thing, Garrus. The Alliance hadn't been there, as far as I could see. There were dogs tags all over the place. And you can be sure as hell that the Alliance wouldn't have left those behind if they came to get what was left of me." She met his eyes for the first time. "I found my old helmet."

"Shepard."

"Okay, sorry, I know, it's just... so weird, talking about myself like this. Not even me, just my body. It's making me crazy, trying to figure all this out."

"Did you find anything else?"

"Yeah. Tire tracks in the snow. They were almost gone, but someone landed there after the crash. Two sets of footprints. It was creepy."

"Creepy, yeah, I can see that." The distracted way she kept shoving her hands through her hair, like she wasn't sure what else to do with them, unnerved Garrus.

"If not the Alliance, then who, Garrus?"

"No idea, Shepard, whoever it is, they can't hurt you now." He inched closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Remember that."

She leaned into him. "What would I do without you?" she asked. He hummed back, anxiety easing away.

That night, he woke up with one thought in his head.

_The Reapers. What if the Reapers took her?_

It was a long time before he went back to sleep.

* * *

"You remember what I said about hobbies, Garrus?" Shepard leaned against him and he had to remind himself not to sling an arm around her. "Forget it. You're already an artist."

Gus Williams - to be more precise, what was left of Gus Williams - was smeared on the floor in front of them. Most of his head was gone.

"I don't think covering walls with blood counts as art, but thanks, in any case," he said, his voice low and just for her ears. He held the killing pistol up to the light. "Interesting model. I think I'll keep it."

"Are we collecting souvenirs now, boss?" Vortash holstered his own gun and crossed the room. "Nice touch, using his own weapons to blow him away."

"I thought so. It seemed... symmetrical."

"We're getting known for our elegant solutions," said Sensat. He was stripping the corpses of any valuables, and didn't seem to mind that he was wrist-deep in the blood of one of Williams' men. "Should we tone it down?"

"Toning it down is no fun," Weaver replied through a mouthful of wires. "Thanks for letting me try out my new sticky bombs. Looks like they worked. Should they go into rotation?"

Garrus thought it over. Shepard rolled her shoulders and cut him a look under her lashes, waiting for his reply.

_Caution could be the difference between a win and a dead squad._

"I want another test run before I give you the green light. There's a two-second delay between you hitting the trigger and the bombs going off."

Weaver spat out the wires. "It'll be fine. I can shave off at least oh point five seconds by overclocking the processor on my omni-tool. No worries."

"Make it one point five and they're in. All right, whatever you're doing, finish it up and get back to cover. Weaver got the updates on the merc patrols and there'll be one coming through in seven minutes. I want to hit them while we're here." After the rest of the squad had hidden themselves and checked in over the secure comm channel, Garrus eased himself behind a crate, Shepard at his side.

"Any last minute advice?" he whispered. She gave him a half-smile and touched his mouth with the tip of a finger.

He heard the mercs' footsteps coming down the hall, and waited until they saw the bodies before he started shooting.

* * *

"Maybe Liara took my body."

"I don't think she's the type to keep bits of you scattered around her apartment, Shepard. Wouldn't you have known if she did? You've gone to see her." Garrus poked at the innards of his omni-tool and tried not to swear. He'd be damned if he went crawling to Weaver for help.

"It's not like I'm hovering around her all the time, Garrus. And she was gone for a while. I don't know. I'd just feel better if she took it, whatever her reasons."

"You _are_ morbid."

"Side effect of being dead," she said with a smile, and rolled on her belly. "Why are you torturing your omni-tool?"

"It's called upgrading, Shepard."

"I thought you were some tech expert. I'm starting to have my doubts."

He threw down the tool and tried not to let his irritation into his voice. "If all you're planning to do is give me a hard time, I have to warn you, I'm not in the mood."

"Hey, hey." Shepard slid off the bed and padded barefoot to his desk. Garrus kept his eyes on his omni-tool and didn't turn his head when she touched his shoulder. "I was just teasing. No harm, right?"

He grunted.

"I didn't know you were having such a bad night. Want to talk about it?"

"No," he said, too shortly. Shepard started rubbing her hand over the join in his back plates, exactly where the tension was centered. "It's not that it's a bad night," he amended. "I'm tired, Shepard. It's been over a year and we haven't had a break, except after you had to save our asses. We're all tired. We're getting sloppy, but we can't stop."

"Says who?" asked Shepard lightly. She kept rubbing his back, her nimble fingers cool through his undersuit. He'd been so exhausted after the last patrol that he hadn't even bothered to change before falling into bed. A shower would wake him up and take care of the aches in his muscles, for a little while, but he was reluctant to get up. "This is your mission, your squad. If you think a break is what your squad needs, then you take the break. Omega will still have bad guys when you get back."

"What about everyone they hurt while we're relaxing and having fun? How can I look at myself in the mirror when I know I've failed someone?"

Shepard slid around him and sat on his desk. Slowly, so he could stop her if he wanted to, she unclasped his visor and set it behind her. She smoothed her fingers over his fringe, down over his mandibles and to the tender spot under his jaw. He couldn't stop his eyes from closing, or a purr from leaving his mouth.

"You can't save everyone, Garrus. It's a hard truth, but maybe it's the only one for people like us."

"So what do I do?"

"You save as many as you can. But you won't be able to save anyone if you're burned out." She lifted his head and he met her gaze. "My advice, boss? Take the break. Send them home, if they want to go." She smiled, a little sadly. "You never know when it might be the last chance to see the people you care about."

Garrus shook his head, but he knew Shepard was right. He sighed and let his shoulders slump. With his right arm, he groped blindly for Shepard's waist and pulled her into his lap. She curled against him and pressed her mouth to his neck, just to make him shiver. He tried to stay present, to not think about what might come next, but when her hands met under his fringe, he gave in, just this once.

They'd been reserved so far, almost chaste. She touched him almost constantly, but only on the arms or back. She hadn't even kissed him aside from on the mandible since the first time - though his clumsy attempts to reciprocate were probably why. If he was ever tempted to slide his hand under her shirt to feel her ribs, or if he ever wondered what her legs would feel like around his waist, the thoughts never left his skull.

Until tonight.

"You won't disappear if I try something, will you?" he asked. Shepard's only response was to scratch her nails down his neck. _I suppose that's a yes_, he thought, and dipped his tongue into the hollow of her throat.

Shepard jolted against him. He smothered a laugh in her shoulder.

"You bastard," she hissed. "You've been holding out on me." Garrus couldn't stop his mandibles from flexing in a grin.

"Sorry, Shepard. Didn't know the protocol for asking your _ex-human girlfriend_ if she wouldn't mind if you did this." He slipped his hand under her shirt, stopping just under the curve of her breasts. Shepard groaned.

"The protocol is to just do it, dammit. I'll tell you if I don't want something."

"Just trying to follow the chain of command." He hissed when she set her teeth, small and blunt, to his neck.

"Being a smartass is a mood-killer," she murmured. She ran the broad flat of her tongue over the faint teeth-marks in his hide. "How far are you willing to take this?" she asked.

"I thought the protocol -"

Shepard pushed out of his lap, avoiding his hands when he tried to pull her back. "Always with the comebacks, Garrus." Her hands moved to the hem of her shirt and yanked it over her head. A scar bisected her belly, but her skin was smooth and taut over layers of hard muscle. Her breasts were covered by two cups of fabric, and Garrus knew, on some level, she wanted him to be interested in them, but her ribs and collarbones distracted him.

"I've never had to tell a guy to look at my breasts," sighed Shepard. "Eyes a little lower, Garrus."

"Sorry. Not used to anything interesting above the waist." He leaned back in his chair and gave her what he hoped was a bored, speculative look. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Maybe a practical demonstration will help," said Shepard. She twisted her arms behind her back, and the material covering her breasts fell away. Her skin was rosy at the tips, and hardened when the air touched them.

"Huh."

"Oh, shut up. These are breasts." She cupped her hands around the fullest part, then framed the tips between her thumb and first finger. "And these are nipples." She squeezed, sighing as her head tilted to the side. "Very sensitive, very...sensitive. That's all you need to know."

"And why would I need to know that?" Garrus congratulated himself on how steady he managed to sound, especially after Shepard's hands started teasing her nipples, twisting roughly and pinching. Watching her was doing all kinds of odd things to his sexual conditioning - since when were breasts more interesting than ankle bones? When she gasped, he bit his tongue.

"That's why," she said, her grin so sharp he could cut himself. "Consider this your first lesson in human arousal." She swung herself onto the bed and stretched out. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've found something much better to do with my time than deal with a cranky turian." Her hands moved back to her breasts, her eyes fluttering closed.

Garrus turned back to his omni-tool. He knew Shepard well enough to understand that the game meant as much to her as winning, and stringing it out was just as pleasurable for him as it was for her. He poked at the wiring a few times, but when Shepard cried out, he threw the tools down and stood up.

She gave him a heavy-lidded glance, all smug satisfaction.

"Finally giving in, huh?"

He hummed as he sat down next to her. "You're more fun to look at than a bunch of wires." She squeezed her breasts and let out a little moan. Garrus had to shift position to ease the pressure against his groin plates._Think of the game_, he told himself.

"My God." Shepard's eyes closed. "That's possibly the least sexy thing anyone has ever said to me, but in your voice? Like I need any more kinks."

He touched her belly with the tip of one talon and drew it up, over the skin between her breasts. "So much soft skin. Makes me wonder what would happen if I ever tried to take you down."

"I'd kick your ass," she said, a little breathlessly.

"Oh, I don't doubt it." On a whim, he let both larynxes open, a low drone filling in the space under his words. He circled her breasts with his talon. "That's not to say I wouldn't enjoy it. But you are full of surprises, Shepard." When she shivered, he closed his hand over hers. His palm covered her breast completely. "No one looking at you right now would think you're as dangerous as you are."

"Good thing you're the only one looking, and you know better." He squeezed, just a hint of pressure, and Shepard gasped.

"Yes, God, more of that." Her back arched into his touch. She pulled her hands free and lifted them over her head. "And keep talking."

It sounded like a bad vid in his head, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I can think of better things to do with my mouth," he purred, with a belated inward wince, and bent down. Shepard's entire body went taut as his tongue touched her nipple.

"Much better," she sighed. He cupped her other breast, squeezing and teasing the hard peak as he let more of his tongue play over her skin.

Garrus had always prided himself on being a quick study, and a few moments were all he needed to have Shepard gasping under him. He kept hoping for her skin to warm, but she stayed cool, no matter what he did.

At least it sounded like he was doing well, and soon her hands came down to grab at his neck, his shoulders, anything she could reach. He licked a long trail from her breasts, over her neck to her mouth, and she pulled him on top of her.

"Garrus," she whispered, her voice husky. He wanted her to sound like that forever. He'd find a way, given enough time -

Two knocks at the door. They both froze.

"I'm hallucinating that," said Garrus. "Or I'm having a nightmare. Either way, I'm ignoring it."

"Thank God," said Shepard, and pulled him into a kiss. He opened his mouth, trying to imitate the way her tongue moved. She shivered.

Two more knocks.

"Boss?"

Shepard broke the kiss and fell back to the pillows. "I'm going to kill them. I don't care who it is. They're dead."

"Agreed," growled Garrus. "What do you want?" he yelled in the general direction of the door, never taking his eyes from Shepard.

"I want to go over our medi-gel upgrades with you before the evening check-in," answered Erash. "Got a minute?"

"Be right there," he said.

"Thanks, boss."

"That's one dead salarian," said Shepard. Because she was a horrible, evil woman, she pulled his hands back to her breasts. "You really only need one medic, right?"

Garrus groaned. "If I don't go, they'll all come to see if I'm all right, and I don't want them seeing me like this," he whispered. "You know, fondling _air_ and moaning by myself."

Shepard laughed and let go of his hands. "Fair point. But it would be hilarious."

Garrus sighed and bumped his forehead against Shepard's. "Later?" he asked. She smiled, slow and private.

"That's what the break'll be for," she said. "For all the _laters_ we can come up with."


	9. Chapter 9

Garrus decided not to waste time. If the squad was going to get a break, better now than later. He didn't expect their reactions.

Monteague swore unintelligibly until Ripper punched him in the arm to shut him up. Weaver and the sisters started yelling. Even Vortash and Grundan looked furious.

"No fuckin' way, boss." Butler folded his arms and did his best imitation of a mountain. "We're not goin' anywhere. There's work to do."

From the corner of his eye, Garrus saw Shepard nod. He waited until the squad had worn itself out before speaking, and then he chose his words carefully.

"There's always going to be scum, Butler. There will always be someone to fight. But we're getting sloppy. Erash, you were asleep on guard duty two nights ago when I came down, and Weaver, you still haven't fixed the delay on the sticky bombs."

"It'll get done, boss!" she protested, almost shrill. He held up a hand.

"My point is, we're up against three merc companies on a daily basis. Not to mention all the slavers, smugglers, murderers, thieves, and psychos who show up to test us. We've made a name for ourselves."

"That's the price of popularity," said Vortash. "Why stop now? We've got them running scared. I say, keep hitting them."

"I hope none of you have forgotten we're still just people," said Garrus. "We make mistakes." The humans, in unison, rolled their eyes. "I'm not moving on this. We can't afford to make stupid mistakes. If we do, more people than us will get hurt."

No one spoke. Garrus took the time to look at each of their faces. As well as some of them hid it, there was exhaustion in everyone's features. He knew Monteague had used stims at least once on a mission, and that it was a matter of time before the rest of the squad gave in to the temptation. It galled him to take a break, but the only other option was to watch the squad crumble.

"Two weeks," he said, and waited for the uproar. It was quieter than he expected. Either they believed him, or they were more tired than he thought. "Talk to me about where you want to go and we'll stagger departures and returns. No one takes a direct route home, and everyone goes armed. I have the shell accounts ready for buying passage to wherever you want to go." He took a deep breath, ready for their last question. It surprised him that no one had asked yet

"What about you?" Sidonis balanced his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. Garrus saw the way his plates were bunched and uneven from tension. "You're not staying here, are you?"

"Someone has to hold the base," said Garrus. "I don't plan on anything more than random patrols."

"Alone?" Sensat frowned. "Boss, come on."

"Don't forget, I was on my own for a while before I started collecting you misfits," said Garrus. He laid his hand on Weaver's head. After a moment, she leaned into him, her eyes closing.

"Thank you," said Mierin. "We need this." Grundan nodded.

* * *

Sensat, Grundan, and Weaver were the last to leave, on separate shuttles an hour apart. They were headed to the Citadel, through various tangled routes. Garrus went with Weaver, even though part of him warned against it, with Shepard close at his side.

"Don't touch any of my stuff," said Weaver at the shuttle dock. "Seriously. I'll kill you and pee on your corpse."

"You're repulsive," Garrus sighed. "Be safe."

"You too, boss." She hesitated before throwing her arms around him. "I'm going to miss everyone," she said into his carapace, warm and fierce and so very young. "Even you. Even if you think you're my dad. Don't get killed."

"I'll do my best. Go get your shuttle." She pulled away and headed for the shuttle without looking back. Garrus watched until Weaver disappeared into the shuttle. When he looked down, Shepard was grinning at him.

"_What_."

"You totally are her dad," said Shepard. She kissed him when he started to protest. "It's okay. Everyone wants to protect her. Too bad she's such a little monster."

"I can't believe she said she'd urinate on my corpse."

"Knowing Weaver, that'd be the least of the horrors she'd unleash. Come on. Let's go home."

* * *

The base was quiet as a tomb after the squad was gone.

Garrus kept that metaphor to himself.

* * *

"Garrus?" Shepard leaned against him from behind as he sat at his desk, staring into space. "You're a million miles away."

"I just realized I've spent more time with my squad than I did with everyone on the Normandy. Seems strange."

"Maybe you should try to get in touch." Shepard floated the idea lightly. Garrus considered but shook his head.

"No. I'm here. No distractions. Well, except you." Shepard laughed. "But if they come, I'll be ready." No need to ask who the they was.

"The Reapers haven't made a move in over a year." Shepard dropped into his lap. "Maybe Sovereign was just a test and they're regrouping. Maybe we bought ourselves some time." She curled her legs around his. "Maybe there won't be a cycle this time around."

"I never pegged you for an optimist, Shepard." He pressed his nose into the hollow under her ear.

"I've got nothing to lose hoping for the best. But just between us..."

"You think they're still coming."

She sighed heavily. "Yeah, I do."

He would been content to sit with Shepard coiled around him until the squad came back, but after a moment he groaned and shifted her off his lap. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room.

"Patrol?" she asked.

"Patrol." Garrus opened his armor case. "Shepard, I want you to stay here."

There was a pause, long enough for him to start to tense up, before Shepard sighed.

"Don't suppose you'll tell me why."

"I'm alone," he said. "And before you tell me that's all the more reason to take you, hear me out. Weaver left the proximity charges in place, but if a large enough group comes through - if the mercs figure out where we are - I need someone here to blow the internal charges."

Shepard drummed her fingers on the wall. "Yeah. Make sure there's nothing left for them to find that links you or the squad back here. I get it." She sighed again. "I don't like it, but I get it."

"Right." He waited until the last seals closed before he turned around. "You can blow the charges and warn me before anyone hears about the blast." Shepard didn't say anything. "I'm not saying this because I don't want you to come, but you had to know I'd tell you to do this."

"I was hoping you'd give in to sentiment for once," she said with a half-grin. "Just promise me not to do anything stupid."

Garrus picked up his helmet. "I can't promise that. Stupidity's contagious on Omega."

"That's what you have the helmet for." Shepard swung down from the bed and padded barefoot to him. "No heroics," she said.

"I'm Archangel. Heroics are what I do." Before she could say anything else, he pressed his forehead to hers and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I'll be back before you can get bored."

* * *

Bravado aside, Garrus had every intention of keeping a low profile on patrol. A few sweeps, planting some of Weaver's security bugs, a judiciously placed computer virus, and then he'd head home.

Of course, all his plans went out the window when he rounded a corner and found Garm taking a piss against the side of a wall.

_Sorry, Shepard. I'm about to be an idiot_, he thought, and lined up his first shot.

The shot hit Garm in the shoulder. The krogan made a choking noise and stumbled back. Garrus swallowed a laugh when the krogan tried to tuck himself back into his armor and aim his shotgun at the same time.

Unfortunately, that pause was all Garm needed to zero in on where Garrus was hiding.

"_Archangel_." Garm's face cracked open in a parody of a smile. "I know that's you. And I only smell your stench, so you must be alone."

Well, that's not good. Garrus lined up his next shot and fired. It caught Garm in the gut, and Garrus had just enough time to lob a flashbang grenade overhand at Garm and aim.

Once the afterimages bled away, Garm was only a few feet away. The grin wasn't going anywhere.

"Let's see how good you really are, you little piece of pyjak shit," Garm said, the last word turning into a roar as he charged.

Garrus whipped around the corner, switching to incendiary rounds as he moved. His rifle would be useless up close, but if he could get enough of a head start -

"I'm gonna find your little toadies, Archangel, and when I do, I'll feed you their eyes."

Forget the head start. His pistol had incendiary rounds too.

He turned, already firing. Without his visor, he missed how Garm's first heart stopped and his second took over. The krogan stumbled back. Garrus kept shooting until the thermal clip ran out. Reloading, he kept running.

He saw an abandoned store ahead, with windows over the alley, vorcha scrounging through the trash in the doorway. He barreled through them and raced up to the second floor. Leading Garm into such a tight space was a risk, but if it meant he could get off a few rounds with his rifle, maybe take out a few more primary organs, it was worth it.

Garm staggered back to his feet, his breathing rough and clotted with blood, and started to count. Ten seconds was the most Garrus had to get into position. Five to climb the stairs, two to get into position. Three seconds, three shots.

_Keep him at a distance. Disable the hands. He can't shoot without fingers and those take longer to grow back than eyes._

Not that a krogan needed guns to be deadly, but one advantage less meant a few more seconds to deal with Garm's natural defenses.

"I know you're in there, Archangel!" The vorcha scattered, but one was unlucky; Garrus heard a shriek, and a wet crunch. He didn't feel pity or even revulsion. Everything melted away as his focus narrowed to a single purpose: kill Garm. No room for hoping he'd make it out alive.

Garrus swung out of his crouch and fired. Garm's right hand disintegrated. The idiot didn't even have his shields up. Garrus fired again. The shot went wide and buried itself, sizzling, in the wall a few inches from Garm's head. The krogan looked up from his already-healing stump and smiled.

"This'll be fun," he said, and plowed toward the store. The impact rattled down to the foundations and Garrus stumbled back from the window. He almost lost his grip on his rifle, and lost the chance for a shot as Garm backed up for another run.

When Garm veered into his sight, he risked coming out of cover to shoot Garm in the knee. Garm's armor kept his leg from blowing clean off, but the krogan went down long enough for Garrus to shoot him in the other knee. While Garm groaned as bones and muscles re-knit, Garrus leapt from the window.

He hit the ground hard on his right foot. Pain lanced up through his leg; he thought his ankle was broken, but when he put tentative weight on the leg, the bones complained but held.

_I can run. I have to run._

"If you're the best the Blood Pack's got," he sneered at Garm, "then I fear for the future of criminals on this station."

Garm roared and swung for him. Garrus backed easily out of range as he switched back to his pistol.

"First, I catch you alone. Then you're too stupid to even put up your shields. No wonder the Blue Suns and Eclipse think Blood Pack's a waste of oxygen." He punctuated every other word with a shot to keep Garm down while Garrus taunted him.

_Finish it_, said the dry, unimpressed voice in his head that always, always had Shepard's face. _He's playing you, he's not as hurt as he looks._

This time, he listened.

"Good night, Garm," he said, and aimed for his second heart.

The krogan heaved toward Garrus on knees still half-healed and fragile as old plastic. How they supported Garm's weight was a mystery. Garrus aimed low and blew out Garm's knee for the second time. Garm collapsed, a thousand pounds of flesh and armor hitting the ground hard enough to make Garrus stagger.

The split-second Garrus needed to catch his balance was all the time Garm needed to pull out his own gun, and fire.

Weaver and Erash had spent months tinkering with Garrus' shields. A single shot - even from Garm's shotgun at near point-blank range - didn't make them do more than shiver.

"You'll have to do better than that," Garrus said, and fired. Garm rocked back. "Still haven't gotten your shields up."

Later, when he was on the Normandy again, Garrus would think of this moment and realize it was the beginning of the end.

Garm's grin turned wide and hungry. "Nice shields. Your little tech princess cook them up?"

Garrus froze. _Weaver_.

"She tried them on the Blue Suns before you rescued her. We _know_ her. And we'll know the rest of your squad soon. I'm not as stupid as I look, Archangel." His knees were healed. Garrus had time for one shot before he had to run.

And now it was a race.

* * *

Every time Garrus managed to get a shot, he bought himself a little more time. It wasn't until he realized they were almost back at the Kima District that he turned and faced Garm again. He held his ground as Garm rushed him, waiting until the last second before he threw himself out of the way and circled back the way he came.

He wouldn't lead the krogan anywhere near the base.

_Shepard_, he thought, heart pounding painfully in his chest, _Shepard, I hope you're watching. I could use the help._

The danger wasn't extreme, not yet. He was pushing himself, but he had plenty of thermal clips and his shields were holding steady. There had been a few tense moments when Garm got too close, but he'd managed to avoid getting grabbed. His leg was sore, but strong. So far.

He put on another burst of speed. Garm's footsteps faded as he rounded a corner and took the left fork when the alley split off into two paths.

About a hundred feet ahead of him were the abandoned docks for the Diulo District, honeycombed with decaying shacks and old crates. Perfect cover, as long as he could keep moving.

Garrus heard Garm thunder down the wrong path and bellow when Garrus' scent disappeared. He settled in, back against a crate while he switched to his rifle and checked the clip, and waited while Garm reversed and came down the right path.

_One shot, then move._

As soon as he could hear Garm muttering to himself, he stood up and fired. Garm's right eye exploded, but the krogan barely flinched. His adrenalin was so high he probably wouldn't feel anything less than an asteroid being dropped on his head. Garrus didn't have one of those lying around, so he'd have to settle for more conventional methods.

He rolled out of cover, to Garm's right, and lined up the next shot. At the last second, he saw an old fuel tank behind Garm, and moved two inches to the left.

_Please still be full._ He exhaled and squeezed the trigger.

The blast threw him off his feet and destroyed what little cover he had left. His shields screamed a protest, then fizzled out with a crackle of static. Three months of work, fried in an instant. If Garm didn't kill him, Erash and Weaver would.

He rolled to his side, in time to see Garm take a step toward him. His back was on fire.

"You're taking too long to die, turian," Garm groaned, and lurched forward another step. "Say please, and I'll crush your head now."

"Thanks," Garrus coughed. "But I've got a date." He brought the butt of his rifle down and rolled away as fast as he could.

Not fast enough.

His rifle exploded, shrapnel flying out in every direction, some of it slicing through his armor. He hissed as a plate on his chest tore open and a sticky, hot trail of blood spilled past his waist. At least his helmet was still in one piece.

He forced himself to his feet. Garm was down, groaning, bleeding from dozens of holes with his face full of metal, but alive. Garrus pulled out his pistol and limped toward Garm, firing until the gun spat out the clip and only a clicking sound happened when he squeezed the trigger.

Time to go. He'd finish Garm another day.

When he turned around, two krogan blocked his path, and the shadows behind them could only be vorcha.

Garm hadn't been talking to himself. He'd been calling for help.

* * *

A/N: An early update! Don't worry, you'll still get the regular weekly update on Friday, my lovelies! Thank you again to everyone who has read and reviewed - your reviews feed me and keep me writing!


	10. Chapter 10

"Any more exploding guns?" Garm drawled, like he had all the time in the world now that his buddies had shown up. He was right; he had plenty of time to gloat, but what he didn't know was that despite his name, Archangel was a hell of a liar.

"No," said Garrus, aimed his pistol at Garm, ignoring the agony in his chest. It was a risk to turn his back on the rest of the Blood Pack, but they wouldn't move until Garm gave the word. "But my armor's got a few surprises. Try to get it off me, and we all go up."

Erash had suggested rigging the squad's armor with explosives a long time ago, practically begging Garrus for the chance, but Garrus said no. Too much margin for error, too _final._ Now, a tiny part of him regretted it.

Garm snorted. "Yeah? What if we don't believe you?" Behind Garrus, the other two krogan shifted uneasily.

"Try me," said Garrus. "You'd be surprised for about half a second before you're shredded. Haven't you learned I'll do whatever it takes to bring you all down?"

When Garm mulled it over, Garrus ran. The two krogan flung themselves away from him.

He couldn't go back to the base until he knew he'd lost them. The wounds on his chest were still bleeding, and one of the krogan got off a shot that clipped him in the leg before he was out of range.

Blood on the streets of Omega. Unless he could hide and get to his medi-gel, they'd sniff him out and make him choke on his own teeth.

Garrus ran faster. Behind him, Garm howled.

* * *

Half a day. Twelve point five hours. Garrus kept running.

The Blood Pack was never more than a block or two away, and usually much closer. Whenever he had more than a few seconds cobbled together, he sat and checked his clips, and tried to not think about how badly he was bleeding. His body temperature was dropping - not to dangerous levels yet, but the heating coils in his armor had started to kick in. That was a very bad sign.

He didn't waste time cursing his stupidity. Shepard would do that for him, if he ever got home.

"Shepard," he panted. "This was a terrible day for me to leave you behind, and for you to actually listen."

When he eased out of cover and didn't see any Blood Pack in range, he sat down again and considered his options. They were few, and none were appealing. His best bet was Butler - the man was still on Omega, with Nalah, and he would come if Garrus called.

But that would leave a trail, from Archangel to another member of his squad, without any more backup. And that trail would keep going, all the way back to Nalah.

No civilian involvement. That was their rule. He wouldn't call Butler.

"Damn it." He pushed himself up and listened. Something knocked over a trash bin, and he heard a growl that could only come from Garm, telling the clumsy one to be quiet.

Garrus loaded a new thermal clip into his pistol as silently as he could. He was down to his last two.

_Think, Vakarian. You're alone, with two thermal clips left and a pretty impressive case of internal bleeding. The Blood Pack is about to sniff you out. Think, damn it, or they'll eat you alive. _

He glanced around. Nothing looked familiar, just the usual assortment of rundown apartments and puddles of dirty water.

_Water._

Hope flared in his chest, hot enough to burn - if he was lucky, very lucky, he might be able to pull this off. Garrus reached down to the spare ammo pouch strapped to his leg, ready for it to be empty, hoping that it wasn't.

The small silver sphere fell easily into his hand, so light it felt like it would shatter if he squeezed it too hard. When he held it up to the light, it glinted.

_Full charge. Thank you, Weaver and Erash. _

He limped out into the center of the alley. Garm pointed.

"There he is! Take him down!"

"Careful where you step," Garrus said. "It's very slippery." He pressed the button on the top of the sphere, and threw it as hard as he could.

_Three. _

"What are you waiting for? He's right there!"

_Two. _

"I'll do it myself!"

_One._

Garrus threw himself around a corner and hunched against the wall. He hoped he was out of the blast radius. Erash hadn't exactly been forthcoming about how far the effects carried.

The sphere exploded.

Every drop of moisture - on the ground, in the air, on exposed skin - instantly flash-boiled. Billows of steam filled the alley, scalding hot, and Garm started to scream.

Garrus gave himself five seconds to catch his breath, and kept running.

* * *

Shepard was waiting in the tunnels for him, her face tight with worry.

"I'm going to kill you for - oh, Jesus, Garrus!" She ducked under his arm and hauled him into the elevator. "You're a damn idiot, Vakarian. Have I mentioned that?"

"Once or twice," he coughed. "Feel free to mention it again, preferably after I pass out." She tightened her arm around his back.

When they got into the common room, she dropped him on one of the couches and vanished from his line of sight. He heard her rooting around in a drawer and started to laugh, a little unsteadily.

"That had better not be Weaver's stuff, she'll pee on you." Once he started laughing, he couldn't stop.

"Shut up, shut up," muttered Shepard as she came back into view. She fumbled with the clasps of his armor and started yanking pieces away. "Oh, goddammit, that's a lot of blood. That's - Vakarian! Eyes on me!"

He couldn't have disobeyed her if he was dying. There was a very good chance he _was_, if all the blue blood staining Shepard's hands was any indication. He locked eyes with her.

"I'm going to roll you over, and it's going to hurt like hell, but I can't stop the bleeding until I know where it's coming from. I don't want you to look anywhere but me. Don't even blink. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?" She didn't wait for his reply before she shoved her arms under him and shoved him onto his back. He couldn't breathe. He hoped Shepard was fast.

Her fingers flew over his back, peeling away the shreds of his undersuit and clearing away the blood. When she pulled out the biggest piece of shrapnel, he bit into the cushion to keep from screaming.

"Must be a mess," he said through a tight throat. "Feels like my plates are broken. Don't know how I managed to make it back."

"Not helping, Vakarian," Shepard snapped. Her hair fell over her face and blocked everything but the curve of her cheek. He watched, fascinated, as his hand reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. Shepard paused and stared at him, her face stricken.

"Goddammit, Garrus. You -" She pulled herself together with a visible effort, and turned back to his injuries. "Goddammit," she said again.

* * *

Garrus slept.

Twelve thousand, six hundred and thirty-four breaths later, he woke up. Not that anyone was counting.

* * *

Except Shepard.

* * *

Butler called in as soon as the news of the fight hit, swearing vengeance on all involved.

"I'm on my way back now, boss. We'll get the fuckers this time, knock 'em right on their arses."

"Not necessary, Butler, I'm fine." Shepard glared at him. "Enjoy your wife a little longer. I'll be in better shape than ever by the time you're all back." When Butler started shouting, Garrus let out a growl that silenced the man completely. His chest throbbed and he pressed a hand over the worst of the gouges.

"I'm telling you, _stay._ Or I'll wait till you're on the bridge and I'll blow it to hell."

Butler laughed, a little nervously. "Uh, right-o. See you later. And boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do that again." Butler hung up. Garrus looked up at Shepard and tried to laugh.

"Now he's trying to mother me, too."

Shepard stared at him, eyes glittering, before she whipped around to punch the wall. Her arm sank through the metal without a sound.

"Shepard, don't -" Garrus hissed. She stared at her arm, shaking, and gave him a look of pure contempt before she disappeared.

* * *

An hour later, Shepard came back and spread more medi-gel on his chest. She wouldn't look at his face, and he didn't try to talk to her. She left again, and Garrus was asleep when she reappeared.

She watched him, rubbing a sore spot on her cheek that hadn't been there before.

* * *

He couldn't walk for three days, and spent any waking minutes fielding messages from his squad, all of whom were ready to come back and pound Garm into dust the second Garrus gave them permission.

On the morning of the fourth day, Shepard slung his arm around her shoulders and dragged him up to his - their - room. She dropped him on the bed and walked out, her back stiff with fury. Garrus felt a thin thread of gratitude she was saving the yelling for when he was recovered, but the thread snapped when she stalked back in and dumped the remains of his armor on the floor next to the bed.

"Garm's claiming he killed Archangel," she said, her voice utterly flat. "The whole station is in awe of him. Congratulations. Business for the Blood Pack has skyrocketed now that they took out the Scourge of Omega." She folded her arms. "You're the best recommendation they could have gotten."

Garrus pushed himself up. His chest ached. "That'll change when the squad gets back. We'll get them all this time."

"Really?" Shepard's voice still had no inflection. "You told me Garm knew about Weaver. Have you thought about that? She'll be back in just over a week. You had better believe they're watching for her and anyone she meets up with."

"I'm aware of that. I've got a plan -"

"Oh, good. A _plan_. Like the _plan _that had you facing down the Blood Pack alone?" She kicked what was left of his gauntlets. "I don't have high hopes for your _plans_ right now, Vakarian. Jesus, Weaver's an idiot teenager and she could have handled that better than you. I thought you were done with this! Barely making it out of the fight with Eclipse wasn't enough?"

Garrus kept his temper in check. For the moment. "So I should have let him just walk away?"

"Yes! And then you follow him, and you _listen._ You find out where he lives, you find out how many mercs he's got, and then you get your ass home and figure out what to do with the intel. It's called _recon_, Vakarian, and it doesn't work when your only approach to a problem is to start shooting."

"I had the chance to take him down, Shepard. I couldn't give that up."

"Then you're going to get yourself killed, and probably the rest of your squad too." Garrus' head jerked up, his teeth bared and a growl rumbling out of him. "Oh, spare me the protective display. If you cared about their safety, you wouldn't have gone after Garm on your own. What if Garm caught you and felt like playing with you for a while?" Shepard's voice went soft. "Could you have kept your mouth shut if they tortured you?" Garrus shuddered and broke away from her gaze.

"What if you led them back here, and they waited for the squad?"

"I wouldn't!" he yelled. Shepard shook her head. His heart pounded.

"You would try," she said, infinitely sad. "You would try and they would kill you when you stayed quiet. Then they would go after the squad."

"Shepard, stop."

"And without you there -"

"_Stop."_

"- they would kill every one of them. I wouldn't be able to help." Shepard kicked a path through his armor and climbed up next to him. He gasped into his hands. She didn't touch him.

"You're responsible for them," she said. "They're your squad. They'll follow you into hell, and they'll fight for you until they're dead. But you have to take care of that loyalty. You have to be smarter."

"How do you do it?" He felt like he was choking. Shepard had scraped him raw. "How do you care so much, and not have it kill you?"

"I'm not the one to ask. It did kill me." She didn't speak until he let his hands fall into his lap. "You wouldn't let your squad pull a stunt like that, would you?"

He shook his head.

"Then you can't do it either. They'll take their lead from you, and if you're not smarter, they won't be. Garrus, Garrus, look at me."

He couldn't. She got up and shut off the lights. The air filling her empty space was the last thing he heard for a long time.

* * *

_I've thought a lot about what you told me. About not sacrificing innocents to achieve the goal. About finding the best way through, not just the fastest. _

_Words mean nothing until you put them into action, Garrus. _


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: The original version of this chapter is explicit, and so I've posted a revised version here. You can read the explicit version (which is a bit shorter than this one) on Ao3. PM for the link if you'd like to read it!

* * *

After trying to sleep and failing, Garrus limped downstairs and forced himself to eat. His stomach griped at him, but after a few moments of gripping the edge of the counter and trying not to think about what vomiting would do to his wounds, he kept the food down.

The base was silent. Garrus found Shepard at the foot of the bridge.

"Do you need me to change your bandages?" she asked, keeping her back to him and her voice neutral.

"No."

"Ah." She was quiet for a long time. Neither of them looked at the other.

"Maybe it was a mistake to come back. Or to come at all. What right did I have to come into your life and try to give you advice on how to live? It was selfish of me. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. It was -" He closed his eyes against the memory of the first two months after Alchera. "It was an empty galaxy without you."

"Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. You can't say what we have is healthy. My whole idea of _home_ is wrapped up in you, and I..." She finally looked at him. "You can't really live or learn with me around. What if you're not the leader you should be because I'm hanging around and throwing off some balance?"

"I'm alive because you saved me."

"What if that's all I was supposed to do? Save you, and move on?"

"No. If you're trying to say this last year was a mistake - no. Twelve people are alive because of you. Not to mention everyone we've been able to help." He cupped her chin, careful with his talons. "You were right. They're my responsibility. I gave them this mission. It's on me if they fail." He let go of her chin and ran his fingers through her hair. She leaned up into his touch. "I'm ready to listen now."

"To what?"

"Whatever you have to say. Come home." He turned around and went back into the base.

She was waiting for him when he limped up to his room. Garrus tried to read forgiveness in her posture, but Shepard, if she had any tells to begin with, wasn't telegraphing them now.

"What I said, how I said it..."

"You meant all of it, Shepard. Don't try to go back on it now."

"I did. And I'm so mad at you I could make what you've got under those bandages look like rug burn. That's not what matters. You're alive. I'm here. We can fight about this forever, or -"

"Or I can finally listen to you, and figure out how to run my squad the right way."

Shepard gave him a tiny, hard-won smile. "It couldn't hurt. I do have some experience, you know."

"So you're what, my spiritual advisor?"

"...that is a _terrible _pun, Garrus."

"I'm just surprised it took me this long to use it. And it did the job. You're not angry anymore."

She huffed. "Don't push your luck. Now get into bed, I want to check your bandages."

* * *

Garrus fell asleep almost right away, soothed by Shepard's hands on his chest. The last thing he felt as he drifted off was her kiss, cool and clean, like the first autumn chill.

* * *

While he slept, Shepard's chest ached and throbbed once, like her heart was trying to remember how to beat.

She stayed very still. It didn't happen again.

* * *

When he woke up, there was music playing.

"Good morning, starshine. The Earth says hello." Shepard spun in his chair. Her mood was calm, a clear lake without ripples. He flexed his mandibles, wondering if he should ask for a better translation before he decided to rely on context clues. The greeting was...affectionate. Comfortable. _Human. _He tucked it away for later.

She put the datapad she was reading on the top of the stack. "How'd you sleep?"

"Too well. My body will think it deserves this much if you let me keep it up." He stretched experimentally and felt his plates flex against the bandages. He groaned when a muscle in his back knotted. Healing was going to take time, even with the medi-gel and plenty of rest, and he'd forgotten the toll the fight with Garm had taken on the rest of his body. His leg tingled; Shepard had reapplied the medi-gel there too.

"I'd wake you if there was anything interesting." She cocked her head at the comm. "Even the mercs are taking a break now that they think Archangel's dead. Checked all the channels and no one's planning anything."

"Maybe they changed channels."

"No one has any reason now their number one enemy is gone. Feel like eating?"

Garrus sat up. The muscle in his back twinged again, but he couldn't reach it.

"Something bugging you?" Shepard sat down next to him. She eased a hand under his shirt. "Let me guess - right here?"

He sighed. "It's scary how you just know. Convenient, though."

Shepard dug her knuckles into the seam between his plates. The ache flared into real pain. He hissed in a breath and forced himself to stay relaxed as Shepard worked into the muscle. The knot loosened and cool relief spread across his back.

"Better?"

"Much."

She hummed, a habit she had picked up from him that put warmth in his gut whenever she did it. The music kept playing.

"What are you listening to?"

"Just some random channel. Someone's listening to love songs down by the loading docks."

"This is a love song? Sounds like a lullaby."

Shepard pushed him back down on the bed. "Maybe to a turian, but this version of the song was _huge_ back on Earth just before I joined the N7 program. Every guy I knew used it to try and get lucky. Two hundred years old and it's still popular." She stretched out next to him and hummed along.

Garrus yawned. He should be getting up, getting dressed, but he couldn't seem to make himself move.

"All right, time for all vigilantes to wake up, even the injured ones. It's past 0900." Shepard stroked his neck. He opened one eye.

"That's counter-productive if you want me out of bed," he grumbled. She brushed her hand over his waist, just enough pressure to make his eyes close.

"When did I ever say I wanted you out of bed? Pretty big assumption to make. You're still convalescing, after all." She pulled herself up to straddle his waist. "I think we should take advantage of the quiet," she said, her voice as close to a purr as a human could get.

Somewhere in the next few minutes, Shepard's shirt migrated to the floor, followed by Garrus'. She ran her nails over the surface of his carapace, idle little circles and whorls. Neither of them wanted to hurry.

"How are you healing? I did what I could with medi-gel, but I have no idea if this is what you're supposed to look like." She traced the raw, purpled end of one wound where it escaped the bandage.

"You can relax, Shepard. I'm healing fine." He hissed when her fingers came too close. "Careful. Having these reopen would be a damper on the festivities." The painkillers had worn off and his chest throbbed. He wanted to move, to _touch_, but even lifting his arms sent waves of fire over his carapace.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." He plucked at the strap of her bra. "Can you -"

"What? Can't handle a bra clasp?"

"Not without omni-gel," he said, and nipped at her neck. "Please, I want to see you."

"Limited mobility's a bitch, isn't it?"

"Shepard_._"

Something in his voice made her shiver and she reached around her back. Her hands twisted, but she didn't pull her bra away. Instead, she cocked her head and smiled a very familiar smile down at him.

"Oh no, I know that look, nothing good ever comes from that look."

"That hurts, Garrus." She slid the straps of her bra down her arms, but kept her breasts covered. "I was _planning_ to be generous."

"How generous?" he asked as he traced her ribs with a talon. Her waist was firm under his hands.

"I was _going_ to let you stare at all my soft, helpless human bits and make whatever smartass comments you wanted before I showed you why soft, helpless bits are so attractive. But I think I'll skip right to the demonstration."

"Demonstration - aah, Shepard, careful, I can't move that easily."

She looked up from where she was undoing the clasps on his trousers. "You're not going to be moving at all, Garrus. I just need a little room."

"Room for what? I thought this was supposed to be a punishment."

Shepard arched an eyebrow, and the smile slipped across her mouth again. "You'll see." She finished with the clasps on his trousers and moved on to her own tossed her bra to the side, but before he had more than a glimpse of her breasts, she was undoing the buttons on her pants.

"Shepard?"

She didn't answer, and her hair almost hid her smirk. He brushed it out of her face and behind her ears, the gesture already achingly familiar. She tugged her pants down over her hips and off, to join her bra, shirt, and boots on the floor. After a pause, she rolled her shoulders back and stretched. When he opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but knowing he should say _something_, she pressed a finger to his mouth, still smirking.

"Not a word. Got it?" He nodded, shifting to accommodate his plates as they began to spread. Shepard glanced down and lost the battle with her smirk, which turned into a smug grin.

"I've heard that it takes a lot of coaxing to get a turian male ready," she said, and let her finger fall from his mouth to his waist. "But the best way to start is..." She traced the seam of his sheath lightly, just enough pressure for a shiver to run through him. "Like this."

Every other time he'd gotten off on Omega, it had been perfunctory - one more ritual to get out of the way before he moved on to more important things. Quiet, quick sessions in the shower, or when he couldn't sleep and Shepard was gone. He'd been taking care of physical requirements, nothing more.

Shepard bent her head. Against all reason, her mouth was still warm.

* * *

Five minutes after he came, he was asleep.

"Typical male," Shepard groused when he woke up. "_Typical._"

"It's not like I could help it," he protested sleepily. "And it's all your fault."

"Blaming the woman. _Also_ typical." But she looked pleased with herself again. While he slept, she'd cleaned herself off and pulled on her shirt. She laid down next to him.

"How're you feeling?"

"Surprisingly good, considering. Another few days, and I'll be as good as new." He gave her a sly look and a purr. "Though I have a whole new set of reasons to stay in bed now." She laughed and wriggled closer.

"Oh yeah? Good to know my skills made an impression."

"About that. Do you want me to...?" He gestured at her body and she slapped his hand away.

"Time's passed. And _don't_ start apologizing. I'll be reliving the look on your face when I finally let you come for... well, forever. Better than an orgasm."

He sighed. "So now what? I'm awake and completely at your mercy."

Shepard pressed closer. "This is fine. Just being quiet, here with you. Unless there's something else you'd rather be doing."

"Not a chance. This is good."

Shepard hummed happily, her throat vibrating against his carapace. "It is."

* * *

At some point, Shepard gave Garrus more painkillers and pulled off the bandages to check how he was healing. She must have been satisfied; she nodded and layered on more medi-gel. Between the painkillers and the gel, everything was blurry and muted and he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Hair is weird."

Shepard pressed her lips together and kept her eyes on his carapace. "Is it?" she asked.

"It's soft, but it's not like fur. But it's not like feathers either."

"Garrus, are you _high_?"

He considered. "Probably," he said. "If I am it's your fault. And I'm still right, hair is weird."

"Okay, time for a nap." She stroked his neck with her fingers. "I promise not to get you stoned next time you have to take your meds."

"Weird isn't bad," he protested. "Your hair is a good weird. But what's really weird are those marks on your face. Frickles."

"_Freckles_, Garrus."

He waved a hand. "Fine, _freckles._ But why? They're not camouflage, they're just decoration. It's not like you humans don't have enough evolutionary disadvantages. No armor. No internal heat sources. How do you survive as a species?"

Shepard was fighting a losing battle against a smile. "Remind me to tell you about what human females go through during puberty," she said. "Then you'll understand why we've basically flipped off evolutionary logic for the past few thousand years."

"Okay," he sighed. "But I mean it. Your hair is a good weird. Can I touch it?"

Shepard laughed. "After what we just did? You don't need to ask to touch my _hair,_ but go ahead."

Carefully, because his arms felt like wet ropes instead of bone and muscle, Garrus ran his fingers through her hair. It was soft and cool, almost slippery. He tucked it back behind her ears and brushed a knuckle against her lips.

"Good weird," he said again, around a thick tongue. "Time to sleep. Come here." Shepard curled against him obediently, not protesting when he slid an arm under her and tucked her into his side.

* * *

"You stayed the whole time I was sleeping?"

Shepard nodded. "You've got quite a grip, Garrus."

"But why didn't you just...go?"

She rubbed her thumb against the tip of his mandible. "Could have, but I didn't want to miss any more world-shattering revelations like _hair is weird_. I'm going to get that on a t-shirt."

"It'll sell very well on Palaven."

"Noted." Shepard swung to the floor. "We've been lazy too long," she said. "Not that I regret it, but I should see how Garm's doing. Time to see what a boiled krogan looks like."

"Is it too much to hope he's died of his wounds?" Garrus rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty and sore.

"Probably. I'll be back." She kissed his mandible and left with the familiar rush of air.

Garrus stayed in bed until his stomach and bladder forced him out. He showered and changed the bandages on his carapace. Even the worst of the wounds had healed. Shepard might have had a future as a medic, he thought to himself, but decided not to mention it.

In the common room, a fine layer of dust gathered on Weaver's workbench and the tables - more signs of how lifeless the base was without the squad.

He had just over a week to figure out how to get Weaver back to Omega without the Blood Pack knowing. His original plan - if it could be called a plan - to meet Weaver at the docks in full armor and shoot anyone who came within five feet was worthless. Time to be smarter.

He could tell her not to come back, but Weaver wouldn't listen. Her loyalty to the squad - not to mention her loyalty to Sensat and Grundan - meant she would come no matter what was waiting for her.

Garrus had been the one to let her join. She was his to protect, especially from his own stupidity. She was safer with the squad.

He tapped his talons on the table. With no one but Shepard around, he'd stopped wearing gloves and the sound was strangely satisfying in the quiet that surrounded him.

_Think, Vakarian. Find the best way through, not the fastest._

His gaze slid over the shelves at the back of the room, where the squad stored leftovers from their fights. None of it was particularly useful: a shotgun with such a powerful recoil not even Butler could use it, a piece of bone that Vortash claimed was part of a kakliosaur fossil, a quarian's suit, unpunctured but still useless -

_That_ had been a fight: Zel'Aenik nar Helash had gone on Pilgrimage, and decided to go crazy at the end instead of home. At some point, she became a viral specialist and decided "serial killer" was what she wanted to be when she grew up.

It took two weeks to track her to her lab in the slums down in the Jakartil District. Zel screamed about liquifying their brains until Grundan got bored and shattered her faceplate with a concussive round. Exposure alone wouldn't have killed her, or at least not quickly enough for Garrus. He'd been sick for days, some awful cough that came with a fever, runny eyes, and a swollen waist. He was miserable, and after everything Zel had done, he wanted to see her suffer.

"I am still superior!" she had shrieked as he approached. "I have filled the air with my creations! None shall escape my work! All Omega shall breathe the fire of my genius!"

Garrus hated serial killers on the best of days, but he hated the ones with megalomaniac leanings most. Before he could put a bullet in Zel's head and shut her up for good, a cough boiled out of him, wet and clotted with mucus.

Before he could turn his head, he coughed in Zel's face, just as she opened her mouth to keep screaming. The quarian froze, eyes wide and glassy, and her entire body spasmed once before going limp. She let out a shuddering moan as a thin rill of pinkish blood spilled out of her mouth and onto the floor.

Garrus counted to ten.

"I think she's dead," said Sidonis. "Nice, boss."

"That was _awesome_," said Weaver, who looked grossed out and delighted about equally.

_Coughed someone to death_, Garrus thought, back in the present. _I don't think that'll be recorded in the histories, unless Sidonis makes good on his promise to write ours. So now we have a quarian's suit, but no quarians on the squad. The only thing worth salvaging was the tactical cloak upgrade to the omni-tool, no idea how Zel managed to afford -_

A small supernova blossomed in his head. He grabbed a blank datapad from the table and started to type.


	12. Chapter 12

Shepard didn't say anything for a long time after Garrus finished outlining the plan. He tapped a finger on her knee.

"Come on, Shepard. I'm asking for your opinion. If it's terrible, I want to know."

She rubbed her eyes. Garrus wondered how many of her gestures were habits she recreated after her death, or if they were bred into her, deeper than muscle or bone.

"It's not terrible," she said. "It's... clever. Careful."

"Thought you'd like that," said Garrus. He couldn't stop a note of reproach from slipping into his voice. If Shepard noticed, she didn't say anything.

"Too bad these upgrades are so expensive you can't outfit the whole squad. It'll come in handy." She turned the omni-tool over and handed it back to him. "Have you talked to Butler yet?"

Garrus shook his head. "We're touching base in an hour. He won't be happy about it, but there's no way around it. I'll brief the squad together afterwards. So if you have any other suggestions, now's the time, Shepard."

She handed the datapad back to him. "You'll have the advantage of surprise, but once the mercs figure out it's you - and they will - they'll be even more vicious than before. You made it personal with Garm. They won't give you a chance to hesitate. Once you commit -"

"- we're in it till the end." Garrus reached out and squeezed her hand. "I want you with me, Shepard, on my six."

She kissed him, briefly, fiercely.

* * *

Garrus timed his call so Butler wouldn't have time to argue before the rest of the squad joined in.

"This is not negotiable, Butler."

"No fuckin' way, boss." Butler's face was red, his scars stark white. "No fuckin' way, she's not goin' anywhere. Nalah stays with me."

"It's not safe anymore. Nalah needs to get off Omega," said Garrus, as patiently as he could. "And before you ask, she's not coming to the base. We're not involving civilians."

"She wouldn't have t' fight! She's a damn good nurse, a damn sight better than Ripper. We could use her." Butler pressed his fist to his mouth, breathing hard. Garrus waited. Shepard leaned against his back and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Dammit, boss. I knew this would come, but - it isn't easy. Nalah's my whole world." Butler looked away. "If something happens to her..."

"We're doing this so nothing will," said Garrus. "You told me she has family on the Citadel. She won't be alone, and when we're done here, you'll join her."

Butler sighed, like a stormy wind. "Right-o. You want me to tell her now, or wait till after the chat with the squad?"

"After." Garrus' omni-tool pinged as Erash called in. "All right, let's do this."

* * *

Grundan shook his head. "Boss, this is _huge._ We've had big ops before, but nothing on this scale."

"We can handle it." Garrus' throat ached. It had taken twenty minutes to get the squad to listen to the plan, and then another hour to outline and refine it. He hadn't talked this much in years. Shepard cupped his mandible against her palm. Halfway through the brief, she climbed over the back of the couch and dropped into his lap. Garrus couldn't help feeling exposed, like the whole squad could see her, He knew better, and having her so close was the best cure for the tension that had built up during the conversation. Just her touch on his face relaxed muscles he hadn't even known were tight.

"Weaver, are you paying attention?"

She jumped and nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Just a little freaked out. It's not like I'm used to anyone except you guys knowing who I am."

"Take it as a compliment, and a warning," he told her. "All right, I'm going to go over the plan one more time, and then it's radio silence unless there's a problem."

In two days, Butler would leave for the Citadel with Nalah. They would visit her family, then Butler would hand off Zel'Aenik's omni-tool - tactial cloak upgrade included - to Weaver.

A little tinkering - barely enough to keep Weaver occupied on the shuttle ride to Omega - and any scans that picked up the cloak would only register a quarian arriving on the station.

Once they arrived, Butler would head back to his apartment, and Weaver would take one of the squad's hidden routes to the base. The tactical cloak would only be deactivated once she was inside and the base locked down.

That was half of the plan.

The rest depended on how pissed Garrus could manage to get the mercs on Omega. After he found out that Eclipse was expecting a shipment of tainted eezo the day before Butler and Weaver's flight back, he knew he could manage it easily.

Everyone else would filter back in ones and twos once Butler was off Omega. The day before Butler and Weaver came back, the squad would split into two groups. The first - Melanis, Grundan and Erash - would disrupt the shipment's arrival with a few well-placed tripwires and explosives, and then very obviously make a run for it. When Eclipse followed, the decoy squad would lead them to where the second group waited. Once the mercs were in the kill zone, the rest of the squad would open fire from their well-hidden sniper's perches.

Clean, surgical, and precise. The cross-fire would take out most of the mercs, and the ones that lived would carry back the news that Archangel was still very much alive.

Even if none of the mercs survived, it'd be clear who had led the attack. It was an _elegant_ solution. The other two merc gangs would turn on the Blood Pack, furious at Garm's lie, and the resulting inter-gang violence would keep all eyes off the docks while Weaver and Butler arrived.

"We can do this," Garrus told them again, after he asked for questions and no one had any. "We can strike this blow and get everyone home safe." He took his time meeting everyone's eyes. No one looked away. "Everyone," he said. "We all come home. Got it?"

The squad nodded.

"See you in a few days." It was impossible not to let his pride show in his voice. There was no reason to say what came into his head next, but it felt like a talisman against what they were about to face.

"Good hunting."

"Good hunting," they answered.

* * *

With radio silence in place and Shepard patrolling nearly every minute Garrus was awake, the last few days before the squad returned were lonely ones. He had plenty of time for thinking while his injuries healed.

Garrus wasn't one for introspection. Once he committed to a plan of action, he saw it through, and dealt with the consequences later. That way of approaching conflict had taken a few hits, courtesy of Shepard, but he was finally able to look at himself honestly.

It hurt.

He knew his flaws, well enough to operate around them, but the one flaw he'd never been able to escape was the way every failure became personal. Some child slaver ran before Garrus could catch him? It was because Garrus didn't move fast enough. Two more duct rat bodies? Garrus couldn't find them a safe place to sleep. One more woman with her eye swollen shut, too scared to name her abuser? Garrus couldn't convince her that he'd keep her safe.

Failure tasted like bitter ash, even in memory. No wonder he had chased down Saleon so single-mindedly. Anything to get rid of that taste.

And then Shepard came, with her rules just as rigid as the ones in C-Sec, but tempered by a unfailing morality. She wasn't afraid to wield mercy like a weapon, and that realization - that kindness could be just as effective as violence - had shaken him to his marrow.

Not that she wasn't flawed - she was impatient, and used her intellect like a whip when someone bored her. Anyone not quick enough to match her wits got trampled underfoot, something Garrus had experienced as a witness, not a victim. She usually chose Pressly or Kaidan for that.

Shepard wasn't one for introspection either. Maybe that was why she took such time with him, a turian with a short temper and grease-covered hands, with wicked aim and a mouth to match hers. It wasn't hard to imagine she saw a younger version of herself in him, with the fire he hadn't yet learned to control. She had taken responsibility for him.

Garrus closed his hands into fists. She was still taking responsibility for him, even now.

Or was that just a last hope, born out of the need to have some part of her remain after her life flared out over Alchera?

He never let that train of thought develop, stamped it down ruthlessly whenever it tried to make an appearance, but he had nothing better to do, and no reason to not face it. Was she here? Or had the past fourteen months been an elaborate fantasy?

The chances were good he should leave this potential fissure alone. If he really had gone crazy when Shepard died, wasn't this benevolent insanity better than what would happen if he gave it up?

_Does it matter? One way or another, I'm here, I'm still alive, and I'm doing good work. Who cares if I'm crazy as long as I do the right thing, the right way?_

"Garrus?" Shepard appeared in front of him, more uncertain than he'd ever seen her. He could only imagine what his subvocals had sounded like. "Everything all right?"

Of course she would come now, as he debated her existence and wondered if her touch was just him grasping for something he never imagined wanting while she was alive. He smiled, and watched the tension fade out of her shoulders.

_I don't care if I'm crazy,_ Garrus thought as Shepard pulled him to his feet and up the stairs, murmuring about checking his bandages. _My squad is strong. My rifle is just an extension of my arm. And I'm happy._

_I'm actually happy._

* * *

Garrus called his family the next day. It didn't go the way he expected.

He blamed his suddenly optimistic outlook. The squad was planning their biggest operation yet, guaranteed to piss off every merc on Omega at once, and he was either crazy or being haunted by his old commander, - but what he realized the night before was true: he _was _happy.

A year and more had gone by since he'd last talked to his family; Solana cried when he told her he was leaving the Citadel again but wouldn't tell her where, and his mother went rigid and quiet.

"Call us when you can," was the last thing she said before cutting off the call.

He punched in the call, hoping his mother would answer, and nearly disconnected when his father's face filled the screen.

"What - Garrus." Thrace Vakarian settled back in his chair. Garrus felt a familiar thread of apprehension slide through him, sharp and cold as a needle, as his father scrutinized him. "Don't need money, do you?"

Garrus coughed and tried not to look down. "Ah, no."

"You're not in trouble, are you?" Thrace swirled something amber-colored in a heavy glass.

_I'm on Omega. "Trouble" doesn't begin to cover it_, Garrus thought wryly. "Not any more than usual," he answered. "I just wanted to check in. It's been a while."

"Interesting definition of 'a while', Garrus," said Thrace. "But far be it from me to argue over details."

"You're joking. You love arguing over details." Garrus froze. "I mean, ah -"

Thrace chuckled and drained half his glass. "No, you're right. It's what made me a good investigator for C-Sec." He lifted his browplates. "Something you've apparently given up on. Care to tell me why?"

"Dad, I didn't call to get into a fight."

"I'm not trying to provoke one. Humor me." Thrace set his glass to the side and wove his fingers through each other. "The last time we talked, you had just taken a leave of absence to go follow that human Spectre around. Then your sister and mother get a call, you tell them you've _quit_ C-Sec and you've got another job, but you won't say what or where. It's not like you to keep secrets."

"No, that was always Solana's job." Garrus sighed. "If I could tell you, I would."

"Not some suicide mission, is it?" When Garrus paused, Thrace laughed, a dry sound like the rustling of dead leaves. "I see. You can't tell me. Listen, son -"

"Dad, I really can't tell you," Garrus interrupted, unexpectedly warm. It had been a long time since his father had called him _son._ "I'm sorry. It's better if I don't."

Thrace leaned forward. "You mean it's _safer_ if you don't. I'm not a fool, Garrus. Just retired."

"Fine. It's safer." They were both silent for a while. Garrus could hear the wind in the rocks behind the house, and a wave of homesickness passed through him. He missed the wind, and the long dusks stretching into cool, velvet-black nights. No matter how hot the days were on Palaven, the heat left the rocks an hour after the sun went down. Sometimes, there was frost on the windows when he woke up.

"Garrus? Son?"

He looked up guiltily. "Sorry. Just thinking about home." Before Thrace could say anything else, Garrus kept talking. "How is everyone? Mom? Solana?"

Thrace gazed at him steadily before sighing. "We're all fine," he said, finally. Garrus relaxed. "Solana's got a job offer on Ilium, running security for some asari business maven. Something Dantius. She can't decide if she wants it or not and it's driving me crazy. Listening to her go back and forth is putting cracks in my fringe."

"Nassana Dantius?" asked Garrus, with a cold feeling in his stomach.

"That's the one. Pays well, too well, if you ask me." Thrace huffed. "If you're making that much money, you tend not to ask questions about what you're told to do."

"Tell her not to take the job," said Garrus. Thrace stared at him for a long time before nodding and picking up his glass. He drained the rest in a swallow.

"It's lucky your mother's not here. She'd yell till your eyes bled about letting her worry this long, and then spend an hour telling you about how the Kovalans' son just got promoted at C-Sec."

"Paralus Kovalan? That asshole?" Garrus couldn't stop the words before they escaped. Thrace laughed and tried to take another drink before he remembered his glass was empty.

"Yes, _that_ asshole. Senior investigator asshole now. He's really not that terrible, once you get to know him."

"I went through service with him. He's never not going to be an asshole. I don't have room to talk but he's got a bastard of a bad temper."

Thrace laughed again. "He does, but he loves his rules. I think that's why your mother likes him so much. She's gotten more conservative in her old age. Inflexible. I think that whole thing with the geth rattled her pretty badly, and you know she hates to be rattled." Thrace tapped his glass with a talon. It was still a surprise to see his father without gloves, and out of a C-Sec uniform. "It's made her a bit more...combative, than usual"

"Combative? What do you mean?"

"She forgot one of your cousin's birthday celebrations a few weeks ago. When I reminded her, she shouted for ten minutes. Nothing too unusual, but it's not like your mother to forget anything." Before Garrus could ask anything else, Thrace waved a hand in the air and leaned back in his chair. "It's nothing to worry about. You know your mother, never likes to hear when she's wrong"

Garrus nodded. He wanted to push for more information, but he knew the set of his father's mandibles. No matter what he said, he wasn't going to get any more information.

_If there was something to worry about, he'd tell me_, Garrus thought. _I need to trust him._

"I should let you go," said Thrace, interpreting Garrus' silence as a hint to wind down the conversation. Garrus tried to protest, but Thrace waved it away. "Besides, I'm all dry and talking is thirsty work." He wrapped his hands around his glass and met Garrus' eyes. "It was good to hear from you. Don't let so much time go by before you call again." His eyes glittered. "It'll have to be you that calls, since I know better than to ask for a way to get in touch with you."

"Heh. Right." Garrus' throat creaked when he tried to talk. "Dad, I -"

"Later," said Thrace stiffly. "There'll be time. Call soon and I'll make sure you get to talk to your mother too. Be safe."

"No promises," Garrus said. "But I'll do my best."

"Only thing I ever expected of you." Thrace, true to form, hung up before Garrus could say goodbye.

"Always needs to get the last word," Garrus grumbled, trying to ignore the cold feeling that hadn't left the pit of his stomach.

"Good to know you came by it honestly," said Shepard. She smirked when he jumped.

"Shepard, how long were you watching?"

"Just the last few minutes. It was touching, really. Now I see why you're such a caring and sharing individual." She cocked her head at him, smiling. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he answered. "They're all good. See anything interesting while you were out?"

If she had other questions, Shepard kept them to herself, recognizing his change of subject as a line she shouldn't cross. At least, not then.

"Nothing terribly interesting. Aria's girlfriend just left her. Three guesses why and the first two don't count."

"Let me think. Irreconcilable differences?"

"Bingo. But here's the twist - she's still here. Told Aria she was leaving, but halfway to the docks, she vanished into one of the tunnels. Moved so fast I could barely track her." Shepard sat down next to him and leaned in. "I like her. You should try to recruit her. The squad could always use another turian."

Garrus pressed his forehead to her temple. "Let's get everyone home first before we think about expanding."

Home. There was no wind on Omega, and the temperature never varied. It was where he lived, nothing more. Palaven wasn't home any longer either, as much as he missed the sun-warmed rocks, the hot, sleepy afternoons, and the feel of cool tiles under his bare feet.

_Home_. Its meaning had changed irrevocably. For better or worse, _home_ was a ghost.

* * *

"Well, looks like the break treated you well," said Garrus.

"Speak for yourself, boss," Vortash grumbled, and vanished up the stairs.

"The way I hear it, he took a few shots of ryncol and hit on Melanis," Sidonis told Garrus, his mandibles trembling on the edge of a smile. "Then, when she went to the bathroom, he started hitting on Mierin. Too drunk to tell the difference. They dumped him at a hotel and went home with a bunch of krogan."

Garrus snorted and tried to cover it with a cough.

Shepard elbowed him in the side. "I would have paid to see the look on his face the next morning," she said thoughtfully. "If we could bottle that much rage, we could wipe out evil in the entire galaxy, not just Omega."

He stepped on her foot. Shepard barely flinched. She would get her revenge later, painfully, but he was too relieved that almost everyone had made it back home safely. In two days, Butler and Weaver would be back, and the adrenalin in his bloodstream would drop to normal levels.

"All right, listen up!" he yelled. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. Vortash leaned over the balcony to listen. "We've got less than twenty hours till we hit that Eclipse shipment. You're all wired and - yes, Erash, you included - and I want everyone to get at least six hours' of sleep. No excuses. If you think you can trick me and use stims, you're sadly mistaken."

"God, I love it when you take charge," said Shepard. "Maybe I should let you boss me around next time."

Garrus ignored her. She sat down at Weaver's workbench and leaned back. Her shirt rode up, exposing a thin, pale strip of belly. He looked away.

"I'm dividing you into two groups. Sensat, Monteague, Grundan, and Mierin in the first group, Melanis, Vortash, Sidonis, Ripper, and Erash in the second. First group, you're on guard duty or you're in the practice range for the next six hours. Second group, go grab some bunk time.I've sent the schedule to your omni-tools so you'll know when to switch. These are the groups you'll be with when we move out tomorrow. Sidonis, you'll lead the second squad."

"What about you?" asked Sidonis. "You're more healed than we thought you'd be after Garm tried to turn you inside out, boss, but even you have to relax sometime."

"Not something he needs to worry about," said Shepard. When Garrus glanced over at her, she was innocently examining her fingernails. She shifted and the cut of her hipbone was briefly visible. He gritted his teeth. "I'll make sure you're plenty relaxed, Garrus."

_Not like this, you won't_, he thought. By the way she grinned, he wondered if she could read his mind.

"I'll sleep when the first group does, but thanks for your concern, Sidonis. I'm touched. Always nice to know I'm appreciated."

Mierin snorted and started to unpack her rifle. "He's not concerned, boss, he's lazy. If anything happens to you, he'd have to get used to a whole new leadership style."

Garrus cut them off before Sidonis could start protesting. "As amusing as it is to listen to you try, none of you are comedians. You know your assignments - move!"

"That's it, just like that," Shepard gave him a dreamy little smile. "Order me around and I'll be putty in your hands."

"Not helping," he hissed on the way to the practice range. His rifle was already unpacked and waiting for him. Shepard only shrugged when he glanced at her.

Mierin and Sensat trailed in, arguing over something that he didn't hear, because Shepard bent down and kissed him as he knelt in his sniper's crouch.

"Have you heard from Weaver?" Sensat asked for the third time in an hour. "Or Butler?" he added belatedly.

Garrus tried not to let his frustration show. "Not since the last time I answered this question. I won't until they're boarding their shuttle from the Citadel to Illium, where they'll book passage to Omega. Now suit up, we move in thirty."

Sensat nodded and unknotted his fingers. Garrus watched him go, noting the way anxiety had tightened the salarian's back until it was ramrod straight.

"I can't wait till we're all back together," he said to Shepard once Sensat was out of earshot. She looked up from checking his new armor. The squad had brought it back with them, and presented it to him with more fanfare than he thought he deserved. It was a rich blue, with a gold bird-of-prey emblem on the arm, with black trim and a black undersuit. He told Shepard he thought they'd spent too much, but she only smiled at him, the slow, private smile she started using after That Night.

_That Night._ He let himself shiver at the memory. With Shepard spending most of every day patrolling, there hadn't been a chance for a repeat performance. He had a few selfish reasons for wanting the squad back.

"Me neither," said Shepard. "It doesn't feel right without everyone here. Just a few more hours." She smoothed her hands over the collar of his chestpiece and stepped away. "I can't believe I'm actually jealous of a turian's armor, but damn, if that isn't gorgeous. Hurry up and put it on so I can objectify you."

He obeyed, slowly, relishing the chance to tease her for once. Shepard leaned back on his desk and watched without blinking. He caught himself preening under her gaze, his neck warming when she laughed.

_Never heard her laugh this much when she was alive_, he thought, and by the way her laughter faltered, she was thinking the same thing. The moment was gone before it could ruin their mood. She crossed the room and stood on tiptoes to touch her forehead to his.

"Ready?" he asked. The squad was already down in the common room, talking quietly, checking mods. Shepard nodded and reached behind her to hand him his rifle.

"Where do you want me?"

"On the perimeter, until the Eclipse mercs are in range. Then I need you behind them, watching for reinforcements."

"Keep moving, call out strays or any nasty surprises. Got it." She tilted her head at the door. "Let's go muster the troops."

* * *

"Decoy squad, report."

"We're in position. No sign of Eclipse yet, but Grundan's hacked into their comm channel and they're on their way. They've got no idea what's about to happen."

"Let's keep it that way. Get the tripwires placed and get to cover. The smugglers' ship just docked. Won't be long now."

"Copy that, boss."

Garrus gave Shepard a nod. She disappeared with something that looked like a heat shimmer. He rose out of cover to glance at the opposite balcony. Sidonis' helmet eased up over the top of a crate, and nodded once.

"Check your clips," Garrus murmured into the secure channel. "We get one shot at this."

"First person who forgets to reload has to clean the showers for a week," said Sidonis. A babble of nervous laughter came over the comms.

"Quiet," Garrus hissed. Once the laughter died, he let his subvocals rumble a challenge. "Fifty credits says it's you, Sidonis."

"All right boss, you're on."

"Heads up, Eclipse mercs on approach!" said Mierin. "About to hit the charges, in three, two, one - mark."

Garrus heard the distant explosion and the screams of the mercs. He counted silently; over the comms, he heard Grundan counting too.

When he hit five, Mierin shouted, "Boss, we're clear!" and threw herself behind a half-built wall, with Erash and Grundan close on her heels.

Garrus spun out of cover and sighted his first target: a salarian, its shields crackling. He fired.

"Headshot!"

"Get some new lines, boss!" Ripper yelled over the comms. "We're sick of your usuals!"

"Says the man who thinks _get ripped_ is a decent catchphrase," retorted Melanis. "Not one to judge, _Ripper._"

"Enough with the banter, people, keep shooting!" Garrus yelled as he picked off another merc. The Eclipse were trying to regain some kind of order, but with gunfire coming at them from above and from almost every angle, there wasn't much they could do except scream in frustration while they waited their turn to get blown away.

It was just what Garrus needed to get rid of that lingering bad taste the last big fight with Eclipse had left in his mouth. Every time he shot another engineer, he felt his mandibles flare wider, until it was actually painful to keep grinning.

Two of the vanguards tried to Charge the decoy squad, but Mierin sent a Singularity at them so quickly that Garrus barely registered her movement. Melanis picked them off with an utterly chilling, gleeful laugh.

"Thanks, Mie - blue warrior goddesses forever!"

"_Stop talking and shoot!"_ Garrus shouted. _"You're not comedians!" _

"You're still laughing," said Sensat, as he Cryo'd a merc before shattering its leg with a single shot.

Garrus was about to reply when he saw the telltale shimmer at his side and felt the distant pressure of a hand on his arm..

"You're about to run out of targets," said Shepard, her voice audible through his helmet. "I scouted two hundred meters down the corridor. There's no one coming. They didn't even get a chance to call their base. Finish up here, and you're done."

"This is the last of them, make it count!"

The answering roar of gunfire was deafening, a grinding feedback loop. The last Eclipse holdouts tried to fight back, but they couldn't get a bead on any of the squad from where they were trapped in the killzone.

It took less than thirty seconds to finish off the mercs. One of the vanguards' barriers was still shrieking when Garrus vaulted down from cover and landed next to her body. He shot her again, just to get a little silence.

"All right, you know the drill. Grab anything that looks valuable or useful. We're out of here in five."

The squad scattered with practiced efficiency, pocketing weapons and credits, scanning the corpses for useful upgrades. Garrus watched the perimeter, Shepard appearing at his side a moment later. He couldn't read her expression.

"It took the squad three minutes to take down over twenty Eclipse mercs," she said quietly. "No injuries to the squad, no collateral damage. Smart, Garrus. And a little scary, too."

Pride. That was what was written on her features. He barely had time to register the expression before it disappeared, replaced with wide-eyed shock. Shepard jerked her chin back toward the squad when he tilted his head in question.

There was a woman standing behind him.

Her back was to Garrus. As he watched, fringe prickling, the woman bent down and shoved her fingers into a hole in the merc's armor.

Garrus barely wondered who or what she was - she had seen the squad, and now she was a liability.

He asked himself if he would be able to kill a civilian - breaking his one non-negotiable rule - to protect the squad, if that civilian became a threat. The answer was an unequivocal _yes. _The fact that she was now staring at her bloody hand wasn't any comfort

Before he could lift his rifle, Shepard grabbed his arm and held him still.

"Look," she said when he tried to pull away. _"Look."_

Erash walked past the woman without a second glance.

"They don't see her," whispered Shepard. "But we do."

The woman stood slowly and faced Shepard and Garrus.

_Her face. _Garrus tried not to shudder and failed. The woman's face was a cracked ruin, burned beyond distinction, healed into red, raw scars. Most of her hair had been scorched away and what was left was bone-white and brittle. Her eyes were bright white pits sunk deep into their sockets.

Shepard moved in front of Garrus. "What are you?" she asked.

The woman raised her bloody hand. It was a good hand: strong, with sharp, bone-thin fingers. Shepard stepped forward, her own hands clenched in fists.

All around them, the squad kept working, oblivious.

The woman turned her head from one side to the other, so slowly Garrus wasn't sure at first that she was moving at all. Her gaze, cool and white, fell on the squad as they worked.

"What _are_ you?" Shepard repeated. Garrus recognized the command in her voice from a dozen standoffs: the Thorian, Matriarch Benezia, Saren. He took a step forward to stand at her back.

The woman's face broke open; it took Garrus a moment to realize she was smiling and not just baring her teeth. It amazed him that a face so destroyed was still able to show something like happiness.

Thirty seconds and twice as many heartbeats went by. The woman kept smiling.

"My Shepard," she said, her voice a crackle and flange. "My Vakarian."

Garrus was sure he didn't blink, but the woman vanished without a sound or shiver. She was gone, white eyes, burned face, and armor with her.

"What the hell," said Shepard. She turned around to face Garrus, eyes glittering. "What the hell, Garrus?"

He didn't have an answer.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: How about another ridiculously long chapter, my dears? :D

* * *

"I thought the strangest thing in my life was you," said Garrus. "But I think whatever it was has you beat, Shepard."

She rubbed her cheek and nodded. They were back in his room, curled together in bed. Vortash and Sensant were on guard duty; everyone else was asleep. The base seemed warm and alive like it hadn't in almost two weeks.

"What do you think it was? Another ghost?"

"How should I know?" snapped Shepard. "It's not like I got a list of other ghosts who might be hanging around. There's no new ghost orientation day."

Garrus let the irritation in her voice flow through him and tucked her head under his chin. A moment later, she sighed.

"Sorry. Guess that rattled me more than I wanted to admit."

"You and me both. That _face."_

Shepard shoved her face into his neck. "Don't remind me. Did someone set her on fire?"

"Looks like." He waited before asking again. "Do you think she was another ghost?"

Shepard propped herself up on her elbow. "It's possible. The way she just appeared, and then vanished again. Hell, I don't even know she _was_ a she. I didn't get any funny feeling when I got close, but I've never met another ghost. I might not know if I did."

Garrus flexed his mandibles, a bad nervous habit, and one Shepard had learned to recognize. She put her hand on his face until he went still. "I don't think she was dangerous, no matter how much she looked like she was."

Garrus grunted.

"I know how it sounds, but we're soldiers, Garrus. We go with our instincts. What did yours tell you?"

He thought about it. After the initial shock of her appearance had worn off, he'd felt only adrenalin, and revulsion at her face. No fear, no suspicion, despite the blood on her hands. She hadn't even looked at the squad.

She had _smiled_, as sweetly as her broken face had allowed.

"I wasn't afraid of her. She's not a threat."

Shepard traced the markings along his mandible. "My thoughts exactly. Which..."

"...doesn't do anything to tell us what she is."

"Right." Shepard pressed her face into his neck again. "Forget her. For now."

Garrus knew he wouldn't be able to make Shepard keep talking about the woman, no matter how badly he wanted to. He shrugged farther down into the pillows.

"You know I'm here, right? Really here, not just a figment of your imagination."

He laughed. "I got over thinking I was crazy around the time you sabotaged a squad of mechs. Maybe before. I know you're real, Shepard, but keep saying it if it helps convince you."

Shepard huffed impatiently and hooked her leg over his. He was dozing when she started talking again.

"Two years ago, if anyone had told me I'd fall in love with a turian, I'd have laughed in their face."

His neck flared hot and he coughed, so startled he couldn't have spoken if there had been a gun at his head.

"Then again, two years ago, if someone had told me I'd suffocate and burn to death, then come back to _haunt_ a turian, I'd have laughed my ass off. Guess that just goes to show."

"Ah, yeah," said Garrus. He couldn't seem to make his tongue work. Shepard kept going, not noticing or not caring that Garrus was holding her tighter with every word she said.

"I never thought I was a xenophile. I mean, I thought the asari were attractive, but the entire galaxy does. No surprises there. But all this? Never thought it would happen. No regrets, though. This is - it's weird to say it - this is the happiest I've ever been. When I'm not yelling at you for acting like an idiot."

Garrus knew from experience no one liked to say things like this and not get a response, but nothing came to mind.

_Hell with it all, she understands_, he thought. He bumped his forehead against the top of her head. When she looked and smiled, a bit uncertain, he kissed her.

"Thought you were just going to lay there and let me embarrass myself some more," she said. "Not very gentlemanly, letting a woman lay herself on the line like that."

"Shepard -"

Shepard pressed her hand over his mouth. "I will peel off your plates if you apologize, Garrus. It's all right. I've got you."

"Yeah, I know you do. I've got you too."

* * *

The moment Weaver called to say she was in the tunnels below the base, Shepard grabbed his hand and didn't let go.

When Weaver deactivated the cloak, beaming and sweaty, Garrus relaxed, savoring the pinch in his healing muscles. Everyone was home.

"Oh my god, this 'tool smells like greasy farts," said Weaver. "I've had that cloak running so long my ass is sweating."

"So charming," said Garrus. He couldn't hide his grin. Shepard wasn't smiling but the way her eyes shone was even better. "You're hopeless, Weaver."

"Oh, totally," she said, her smile even wider. She was crying too, just a little. "I'm so glad to be back, you have no idea."

"Come on home. But no saying hi to anyone until you get that off and get showered. You reek." He and Shepard stood aside to let her in.

"Yeah, fine, _Dad_." Weaver's smile didn't falter as she ran up the stairs, yelling a hello to the squad, who had gathered in the common room. The shout that went up in response made Garrus hot under the ribs.

"One more, then we're all together." Shepard wrapped her arm around his carapace and hugged him. "Thank God. It's about time."

"Yeah," said Garrus. After a quick look to make sure none of the squad could see, he brushed his forehead to the top of her head. "And Butler's on his way. Going to be a lot louder with him here."

"_Oi!_" crackled Garrus' comm.

"Ah, the dulcet tones of our resident bruiser," said Shepard. "Better let him in so the party can start."

* * *

The partywas nothing short of apocalyptic. Garrus wondered why no one came to investigate what was, even for Omega, an obscene amount of noise, but after the third round of hugs and the second bottle of what he and Sidonis were drinking, he stopped caring.

Shepard stayed long enough to whisper that she would take the watch, and vanished.

After that, things went blurry, and then went dark. Garrus woke up on the couch, face-down, with Sensat half on top of him. He was snoring. And drooling.

"Oh, wonderful," Garrus groaned, and shifted him off as gently as possible. Sensat made a little noise of protest before curling into a ball and going still.

Most of the squad was piled around the common room, and if he hadn't heard them snoring, he'd have thought they were dead. No one moved, not even when he stumbled over one of Monteague's arms and kicked Butler in the side.

He climbed the stairs carefully, to keep the noise in his head to a minimum, and was almost to his room when he heard the sisters talking to Weaver in the squad's room.

"So you bet Erash the boss's got a secret wife?"

"Or husband," said Mierin. "Don't be so heteronormative."

"God, _sorry_. But how can you tell there's _anyone?_ It's not like he gives anything away."

"There are ways to tell," said Melanis. "You'll learn when you grow up."

"Gee, thanks," said Weaver. "The _when you grow up _line isn't old or anything. Nineteen is like, a million in Omega years."

"I can't argue with that," laughed Mierin. "But really, it's not so hard to tell."

"How do you figure?"

"He never talks about anyone, except way in the past. He mentioned that recon scout but that happened what? Seven, eight years ago?" Garrus heard Melanis grunt as she shoved her bag back into her locker.

"And?"

"_And_ he wouldn't let us buy him a lap dance from an _asari stripper_," answered Mierin. "You have to be dead or married to turn that down."

"So, either he's a cold fish, as you humans say, or he's got someone and doesn't want to mention it. For the record, I think it's a secret wife, back on Palaven. Maybe they had a fight, maybe she kicked him out. He wouldn't be here if it was a _happy_ marriage. Probably arranged, poor guy." Melanis sighed in sympathy.

Weaver made a thoughtful noise. "I don't know," she said carefully. "I don't think it's that simple."

"Yeah?" Metal creaked as one of the sisters sat down on the couch. "What's your theory, then?"

A long moment went by, long enough for Garrus to turn away, before Weaver's voice stopped him.

"Look, I'm only admitting this because I'm still a little drunk, but - I always thought he had a thing for Commander Shepard."

Mierin laughed and quickly smothered it. "Sorry! But why? Humans and turians aren't killing each other anymore - well, not that often, at least - but they're not exactly the best of friends."

There was a squeak as Weaver slid farther down in the couch cushions. "I don't know, it's just. You remember the vids, right? Every time she was interviewed, he was there. Even that asari doctor wasn't there as much. It's like, he always had her six, you know?"

"Why, Weaver," said Melanis. "You're a romantic. A bloody-minded, filthy little romantic."

"Fuck you," said Weaver, without anger. "It's part of my dazzling charm."

"Wait." Mierin had a sly edge to her voice. "How do you know he was in _every_ vid, Weaver? You got a crush on the boss?"

"No!" said Weaver. "No, nothing like that. Turians aren't my thing. I like...skinnier guys. But anyways, there wasn't much else to do when I first got here. Fixing broken bits of tech, trying not to get shot every time I went outside, and watching the vids. That was my life. And Shepard, I just thought she was the coolest. Total badass, but she wasn't a dick about it. She made me want to try enlisting again."

"You wanted to join the Alliance?"

"Yeah. When I was sixteen. I hacked the system to make me look eighteen, but the recruiters but the recruiters didn't fall for it. Called me a baby. So I diverted their next two paychecks into a dummy account and used the credits to buy passage out to Omega. Fucking jerks."

"Sorry," said Melanis. "We didn't know."

"Eh, it's over. So they don't want Terminus trash. Whatever, their loss. Looks like I found a way to help anyways, you know?"

"It looks like we all did."

There was another long pause, and then Mierin laughed again.

"I'm sorry, Weaver, but Shepard and Vakarian? _Really?_"

"Come on, it's sweet!" Weaver protested. "They were good friends, at least. You can't say they weren't. But don't tell him I told you. I don't want to be the dick that brings her up."

Mierin and Melanis murmured a promise, and the conversation faded as they crawled into their bunks. Garrus walked toward his room, turning his mind toward bathing and maybe food, when Shepard came into view.

She was at his desk, chin in hand, frowning as she read one of his datapads. In moments like these, Garrus couldn't understand how no one else could see her, ghost or not. When she was alive, she was always the brightest object in any room, thanks to her hair, but even in rest, without knowing anyone was watching, Shepard still projected the entire force of her will.

When he came into their room, she didn't look up. He didn't mind. It gave him the chance to watch her without distraction.

He blinked and tapped a command into his visor. When his sight zoomed in, a low curl of dread slipped into his gut.

Her scars were gone.

_Maybe it's time to let go of expecting the worst,_ he thought._ She hasn't gone anywhere in months. She said she would always come back. This could be a good sign. _

Shepard finally noticed him watching, and looked up with a sweet, tired smile.

_A good sign. Yes._

"Good morning," said Shepard. She spun lazily in his chair. "You look terrible. What were you guys drinking? I think it can do double-duty as krogan tranquilizer."

"I don't know what you're talking about," murmured Garrus. "I feel great."

"Really?"

"No, I'm about to go collapse in the shower."

"Thought as much." She put down the datapad and watched him.

"Anything to report?" he asked as he stripped down. When he fumbled the clasps on his tunic, Shepard stepped in to help. He gave her the best suggestive look he could and nodded at their bed, but she only laughed.

"Nothing that will require anyone being awake for the next six hours. Eclipse can't decide if they want you or Garm dead first, and the Blue Suns are staying quiet until they know which way the fight'll go."

Garrus grunted. "What about that new group? The Talons?"

"They're not a concern right now." Shepard dismissed them with a sharp wave. "Small-timers. They're moving base down to the Duilo district to get out of the way of the bigger groups. Until they're re-established, forget them. I'll keep an eye on it. Go collapse."

His private shower was unreliable at best. Garrus rarely used the water, which was usually lukewarm and left a slimy feeling on his plates; instead, he used the traditional oil and sand. His head pounded when he tried to get his hands to cooperate with the jar lids. When he dropped the sand for the second time, Garrus sighed and leaned against the wall.

"Need some help?" Shepard asked from the other side of the door.

His reply stuck in his throat. Shepard was good, kind, and brave, but she had no concept of personal space. The only time Garrus saw Kaidan close to tears was when Shepard followed him into the head, talking over mission parameters.

A long time ago, the first time Shepard followed him into the shower, Garrus tried to explain how intimate, how _private_, turian bathing rituals were. At best, Garrus was an agnostic - despite the evidence of an afterlife that was only ten feet away - but he always kept to this part of the sacraments: when you bathed, you washed away your sins. All the detritus of frustration and desire were cleansed by oil and sand. Garrus knew his sins were too many to be washed away so easily, but he liked the ritual. If someone helped him, they shared his flaws and mistakes.

A human might call it a marriage.

He explained it to Shepard in vague terms, and ever since she had respected his wishes. But now -

Of course. Shepard's research on turians hadn't been focused on just the physical aspects. She knew what she was asking.

_Two years ago, if anyone said I'd fall in love with a turian, I'd have laughed in their face._

He nodded, then remembered she couldn't see him.

"Sure," he said. "Yes." He blinked and Shepard stood in front of him. She looked almost shy.

"You'll have to show me what to do," she said. "I don't want to mess up and ruin everything."

Garrus held out the jars. His hands shook. He blamed it on the hangover. "Just go slowly. You won't hurt me."

Shepard took the oil, her fingers sliding over his. He turned his back to her and pressed his hands to the wall.

For a long time, neither of them moved.

This was not the shape he thought his life would take. He had faith in what was tangible: his rifle, his armor, the ship or planet under his feet. It was harder to believe in his abilities, or his choices. He had learned, after so long, to trust himself.

Shepard - he had trusted Shepard from the beginning. She was bedrock, the foundation to build a life upon.

"The oil first, then the sand," he told her.

Her cool hand stroked his back, slick with oil. His neck warmed, not from desire or embarrassment; he didn't feel either of those things. What he felt was peace, and a quiet sadness that this hadn't happened sooner.

_Stupid,_ he thought as she moved from his back to his legs. _It could only have started now._

"Is there something I'm supposed to say?" asked Shepard.

He shook his head. "It's meant to be just this," he answered. Shepard hummed and crouched to reach his feet.

After that, she didn't say anything. The only sounds were his breathing and the slow scrape of the sand as she worked. When she paused, her hand resting in the bend of his elbow, he realized a third sound had joined the others: a low rolling thrum, almost too deep to be heard by human ears. She reached up and pressed her fingertips to his throat.

"What does that mean?"

Garrus straightened. "A lot of things. Trust. Loyalty. Gratitude." He turned his head as far as he could to look at her. "And..."

Shepard met his eyes. Even without his visor, he saw the minute fluctuations of her pupils as they flared and contracted. She pressed her lips together and nodded.

"All good things." She put her free hand on his waist; not to tease, but to steady him. He turned around and focused on the point of contact. "It's not just yours to carry," she said. "It's mine, too. Don't ever forget it. No matter what happens, you're not alone."

"You've got me," he said.

"Always."

* * *

The next two days went by in a fever of activity. The woman didn't reappear, no matter how hard Garrus and Shepard watched for her.

Garrus barely saw Shepard. The squad seemed to believe that, post-Garm, he needed someone with him at all times. It was hilarious for the first fifteen minutes and agonizing every moment after. Unless he was sleeping, he wasn't alone.

Not that he had been since those bleak five days, but being alone with Shepard was the only true peace he had.

Weaver refused to wear the tactical cloak again, claiming it was better used as a template for upgrades for the whole squad. Privately, Garrus agreed, but it meant the squad needed another on-site hacker. Vortash, to everyone's surprise, volunteered, and Weaver admitted to Garrus he learned quickly.

Butler channeled his frustration - sexual and professional - into creating a workout routine that terrified Garrus when he stopped to consider it. No one avoided Butler, exactly, but they did give him a wider berth than usual. Sidonis was the only exception, either through bravery or stupidity.

Sensat and Grundan continued to be test subjects for Erash and Weaver, and had the burns and bruises to prove it.

Vortash avoided the sisters as much as possible until Garrus pulled him aside and told him to grow a pair. The meaning translated, even if the exact words didn't. It helped that Ripper, Sidonis, and Monteague instituted a "mens' nights", which, as Garrus discovered the one time he joined them, involved explicit vids and alcohol.

The sisters squared off a section of the garage downstairs for practicing their biotics. Garrus was there when Melanis, after months of struggling, finally managed to Reave. She was out cold for fifteen minutes, but after that she could deploy it almost effortlessly.

"I'm jealous," Shepard sighed later, staring at her hands. "Watching them makes me miss my amp. Something else I never thought I'd say. Always wanted to learn how to Reave."

"I'm not surprised. Anything that causes pain and suffering is always at the top of your list."

"Laugh it up." Shepard leaned back in her chair, legs splayed. "In case you hadn't noticed, that's why you were always my favorite." She let her head fall against the back of the chair. Other humans only looked so open and loose when they were completely safe, or on the edge of sleep. Shepard's eyes moved restlessly over the ceiling, far away and planning.

Everyone else was finally asleep, except for the guards. For the first time since Weaver came home, Garrus and Shepard were alone. Taking advantage of the quiet was not an option; Weaver had given him a stack of datapads to read and

"Since you mentioned pain and suffering, Shepard, I had an idea I wanted your opinion on."

"Shoot."

"We've had our fun with smashing merc ops and disrupting smugglers. What if we tried a different approach?"

Shepard folded her hands on her belly. "Seems like your current approach works pretty well, boss. But changing things up couldn't hurt. It'll keep the mercs guessing. What did you have in mind?"

Two sentences into his explanation, Shepard abandoned any sign of relaxing and leaned forward, her eyes bright. By the time he was finished, she was trying not to grin.

"Psychological warfare? That could actually work, Garrus. Like I said, you've already made it personal with Garm. Why not the rest of those bastards?" She laughed like a little girl. "So who'll you go after first? Tarak? Jaroth?"

"The only one we haven't pissed off is Tarak. He probably thinks we're ignoring him." Garrus clenched his fists.

"You're not going to let him think that for long, are you?" Shepard leaned forward, her eyes a sharp, secret gleam in the half-light. "Wouldn't be very nice of you if you did. What've you got in mind?"

Getting past Tarak's first layer of bodyguards was almost too easy. Shepard scouted ahead, flashing back into Garrus' sightline long enough to wave him on before disappearing again. Butler and Sidonis moved soundlessly behind him, graceful despite their bulk and full armor.

Before they entered the apartment block, Garrus opened the secure squad channel.

"One last test of the voice modulators. Butler, go."

"She sells seashells down by the sea shore." Butler's voice came back cool and unaccented; a barefaced voice, even for a human.

"Right. Sidonis?"

"Victory, at any cost." Garrus winced. Weaver's idea of a practical joke meant Sidonis sounded like a fledgling whose second larynx hadn't finished maturing. Butler coughed to hide a laugh.

"When we get back home, I'm going to wreck you. And Weaver."

Butler choked down another laugh and straightened when Garrus glared at him. "That's enough, Butler. We move on my mark."

"I don't see why I have to sound like this," said Sidonis, for the fourth time since they had left the base. "I sound like a kid. A _whiny_ kid. Why do you get to be the one who sounds all... menacing?"

"Because I'm not the one complaining about a joke a nineteen-year-old played on me."

"It's not fair!" Sidonis gripped. "It sounds creepy when you _breathe_, boss."

The telltale shimmer flickered just before the edge of his faceplate cut off his vision. "You're clear, Darth Vader," said Shepard. "The next patrol won't come through for another fifteen minutes; Weaver's hack has the security feeds from this area playing on a loop."

"Mark. Move out!"

The bypass shunt took thirty-four seconds to hack the lock on Tarak's apartment. Garrus gloated briefly when no ugly surprises caught them on the way to the bedroom. Bodyguards, security programs, voice-recognition software - and none of it could keep them out.

"Fourteen minutes," said Shepard.

Tarak's room was immaculate, all gleaming chrome and polished hardware. Even his sheets were pristine white. That kind of clean cost major credits, especially on Omega; Garrus let his anger flare briefly as he considered just how Tarak managed to fund the decor.

There was a chair facing the bed, white leather and silver fixtures. Garrus considered it for a moment. Shepard laughed.

"Oh, go ahead. You know you want to."

He sat down. Butler and Sidonis moved to flank him on either side, shotgun and SMG trained on Tarak's sleeping form.

"Thirteen minutes, Garrus." Shepard moved out of his line of sight, her eyes on the door.

Garrus shifted to a better position and let his rifle rest on his thighs. For a few seconds, he let himself savor the mental image: three fully-armored figures, watching a sleeping batarian. It would be so easy to take Tarak out now, but that would only put a hold on the Blue Suns while Tarak's lackeys jockeyed for position. Garrus wanted them off Omega completely, and for that, he needed to terrify, not kill.

He opened the comm channel as he cleared his throat. Tarak rolled over and threw an arm over his eyes. Garrus cleared his throat again, more insistently. Tarak sat up, all four eyes blinking at the gloom.

"Wuzzet. Wuzzappenin."

"This is your wake-up call, Tarak." Garrus wished he could lean back a little farther; his armor was intimidating but inflexible. "Archangel says good morning."

"Fuck!" Tarak jerked upright, his hands cradling the back of his neck as he curled into a ball. "Fuck!"

"Eleven minutes. Less, if he keeps up that noise."

Garrus settled deeper into the chair. He wished they could take it with them when they left. Weaver was jamming Tarak's comm channels from back at the base; as long as she stayed alert, Tarak couldn't call for help, but yelling could be just as effective as a panic button or silent alert. Garrus lifted a finger. Butler and Sidonis stepped away from his chair to cross behind it, guns still trained on Tarak. They moved in a steady, ground-eating lope across the room and back again.

"Boss, we're in position," said Sensat over the secure channel. "No sign of that patrol yet. Ready to clear the way on your signal."

Garrus tilted his head to the side. "Relax, Tarak. I'm only going to kill you if you try something. Like I said, this is a wake-up call. A friendly warning."

"A friendly - just what the hell are you playing at?" Tarak looked up. His eyes tracked Sidonis and Butler, lingering on a cabinet just to the left of Garrus' chair.

_So that's where his guns are. Stupid, Tarak, _really _stupid._

Garrus leaned forward. Tarak pushed away until his back hit the headboard. "I haven't been playing the whole time I've been here. And I'm not playing now. Here's your warning: _leave_."

"Leave -" Tarak seemed stunned. "Leave," he repeated. He shook his head, his shoulders heaving in a laugh. "You expect me to just go? You're brave, Archangel, but you're stupid. Blue Suns will always be on Omega."

"Not if their _fearless_ leader decides better business opportunities lie elsewhere." Garrus put a cruel twist on his words, knowing they'd sound even better in his new voice. "Start packing, Tarak. Or I bring all my friends on my next visit."

"Seven minutes, Garrus. Start wrapping it up."

Tarak glared at him, so full of hate that Garrus might have been worried - if Tarak hadn't been in his underwear.

"This is a courtesy visit, Tarak. Next time, you won't even know I'm here."

"You'll never win," Tarak finally managed to sneer. "You're just another vigilante. We killed everyone who came before you."

"They weren't me," said Garrus. "They didn't have my squad." He stood up. Tarak cringed even farther into his sheets. "Sleep well, Tarak."

"Hey, boss, looks like the patrol's getting suspicious. They're about to cross through the blast zone," said Sensat. "Uh, make that _really_ suspicious. They just found what's left of the bodyguards."

Garrus refocused on Tarak. "If you think you can come after us, remember that Garm said Archangel was dead. But here I am." He switched to the secure channel. "Second squad, _mark_."

The back wall of Tarak's apartment exploded. Weaver had finally fixed the trigger on her sticky bombs.

The drop was two stories, straight down, but their shields cushioned the fall. By the time Sidonis staggered to his feet and shrugged off Butler's hand, the second squad was mopping up the last of the patrol. A few were left - more than enough for Garrus and the rest of his squad to join in.

A pair of Blue Suns stood back to back, trying to hold off the gunfire. Butler dropped his gun long enough to grab a helmet in each hand. The mercs struggled, thrashing and screaming until Butler smashed their heads together. They dropped, twitching as their nervous systems fired one last time. Thick, clotted scraps of what had been their brains leaked out of the cracks in their helmets, red-spattered and steaming in the cool air.

Another merc opened fire on Butler, whose shields whined and went out. Garrus jumped over a corpse, shredded from the explosion, firing back at the merc to return the favor. Butler didn't seem to notice that his shields were gone. He turned, head lowered between his shoulders, and spread his arms wide with a roar. The merc dropped their gun and tried to run, but Butler caught him before he took three steps. There was a shriek, cut off when Butler's hands closed around the merc's throat.

Garrus turned back to the battle. Butler was just fine. Better than fine; the man really did love using his hands.

Melanis had volunteered for the second squad solely to try out her Reave. She deployed it from on top of a pile of rubble, hissing as her amp fed back into her shields and med-pack.

"Garrus, get down!" shouted Shepard. She shoved him to the side, in time for another Reave to slice through where he had been standing. Garrus rolled over and watched the Reave slide into Shepard. She winced and blinked out, reappearing on his other side.

"Well, shit," she said. "That was - unpleasant."

There was no time to ask if she was all right. When a shot ricocheted off a broken slab to his right, he rolled to the left and up into a crouch. His Mantis was useless at this range, but he snapped off a quick Overload while he switched to his Vindicator and checked the thermal clips. Shepard slapped another one into his open palm.

"On your three!" she yelled. "Watch out for Sensat!" Garrus sighted, exhaled, and fired. The dust from the explosion, already a complication, was almost opaque as the squad kicked it up, working their way down to the alley at the end of the block.

"All right!" he yelled over the secure channel. "No time for checking bodies. Move out!"

"Copy that," the squad chorused. They converged on his position: Sensat, Melanis, Sidonis and Butler, covered in blood and dust, but whole and alive.

"Move!" he yelled. "You know your assigned paths. Go, go, go!" He waited until they were clear, and lifted his head to look back up at Tarak's apartment. The batarian glared down at him. At some point, he'd changed into his armor - a pointless effort, given that his guards had just been destroyed to a man.

Garrus keyed over to the open channel. "Don't forget, Tarak. It's not just me. Archangel's an army." He backed into the dust, Shepard at his side, and waited until she grabbed his arm to start running.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: _The original version of this chapter is explicit, so a modified version has been posted here. If you'd like to read the other version, please PM me. And as always, thank you for reading!

* * *

Shepard stayed silent the entire way back, her face etched in stony lines that kept Garrus quiet too.

_She doesn't feel things the way I do_, he thought after the second time he tried to start a sentence and she wouldn't look at him.

Still.

He put a hand on her back; not a reproach, just steady reassurance. Shepard tensed but when he stayed quiet, she relaxed and gave him a rueful half-smile.

_You're not off the hook, Shepard_. _We _will_ talk about this._

Shepard slung an arm around his carapace and pulled herself closer. In what seemed less like coincidence and more like happy telepathy, she had a response for exactly what he was thinking.

"I know you want to talk about this, Garrus, but I don't. Not yet." She kept her eyes on the alley ahead of them. "I'm fine, but let's just get home."

Garrus nodded. Shepard's arm had slipped lower, to rest around his waist. She may not have been trying to distract him, but now all he could think about was how quickly they could get back to base.

Two days was a long time to wait.

* * *

Shepard disappeared as soon as they passed into the base. Garrus knew she was waiting for him up in their room, impatient to talk about the mission and to invade his personal space as she checked him for wounds. He kept the debrief with the squad as short as possible before he assigned guard duty and sent the rest to the showers. No one questioned the early dismissal; exhaustion hit them hard once the battle-spell dropped away, even for the squadmates who hadn't gone on this mission.

Garrus took the stairs two at a time.

Shepard had her back to him, arranging his datapads into new stacks. He heard her impatient huff as he opened his armor case and ducked his head to hide the wide flare of his grin.

"Butler actually scared me a little today. I knew he had the Berserker gene mods - at least, I hope he did. If he was born that way, you should be terrified of him. Either way, maybe we should have started his dry spell a little earlier."

Garrus made a noncommittal noise as he unclasped his armor and shrugged it off. The relief hit him in a solid wave and left him so dizzy he had to lean against the wall before he could straighten up. He glanced over his shoulder at Shepard. She drummed her fingers on the desk and set the last datapad to the side.

"You're awful quiet, Garrus. Don't want to talk through the mission?"

"Not particularly," he said.

Shepard half-turned. "Did you have something else in mind?"

"You could say that," Garrus answered. He snapped his armor case shut and turned to face Shepard.

When their eyes met, the air went electric; every angle sharpened and even the light overhead felt brighter. Shepard leaned her hip on the desk and folded her arms across her chest.

As he walked toward her, Shepard smiled and looked away. He lifted her head with his thumb beneath her lip and pressed his forehead to hers, parsing the welter of his feelings: dregs of adrenalin, fury at Tarak, affection for the squad, exhaustion, worry, and in the center, the hot well of everything he felt for Shepard.

She stayed still as he traced her face with his fingers and eyes. It occurred to him that Shepard was never still without a reason; she could stand motionless for hours if the mission called for it, but given a choice, she would never stop moving. No one else had ever been given so much of her time or peace.

The base was quiet, the squad had relaxed its watch over him, and Shepard was only inches away.

"You're making that noise again."

He hummed and pushed closer.

"I think I've been very stupid."

Garrus opened his eyes. Shepard's irises were thin jeweled rings around wide pupils. "Stupid? You?"

She linked her fingers behind his neck. "Yeah. Here I am, worrying you haven't said... _it_ back. You've been saying it the whole time, haven't you?"

Garrus kept his forehead pressed to hers as he nodded.

"Yeah, pretty stupid. Got a lot to learn." She laughed again, the sound coming out skewed and a little sad. "Good thing I've got so much time, right?"

_If she stays still, she thinks too much_, Garrus realized. _That's why she doesn't let herself stop. The least I can do is try to make her stop thinking. _

For that, speaking wouldn't be necessary.

* * *

Garrus woke in the middle of the night. Shepard's cool, still form wrapped around him, firm but not restrictive. He slid a hand down her bare back. Her hand squeezed his leg in response.

Shepard rolled away, her hands leaving his body reluctantly.

"Time for your patrol?"

She nodded in the gloom as she dressed. "You've still got a few hours before you need to be awake. I'll be back before the watch changes." She bent to kiss the top of his head and disappeared.

Garrus counted five minutes in his head before he swung to the floor and got dressed. Sleep was out of reach; he didn't want to stay in bed when Shepard wasn't there. He hoped the scum of Omega would stay quiet tonight.

The danger of a _what if_ was how quickly one blossomed into many. The first stretched out sticky tendrils to snarl in his thoughts; everywhere it stopped, another fanned open and spread until he was lost in the tangle.

Garrus made himself stop pacing and sat down at his desk. _This is like any other mystery_, he told himself. _You ask questions, you make connections. _

He hesitated before opening a secure channel. The last conversation with his father had gone well, but that was no guarantee this one would. From experience, Garrus knew he could weather his father's disappointment, but his father's laughter was a different story.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the channel. With luck, he wouldn't be calling in the middle of the night.

Thrace answered.

"Garrus," he said. "I'm beginning to think you actually want to talk to me. Your mother and sister are out. I'll try to entertain you while - "

"Dad," Garrus burst in, before his nerves failed completely, "what do you know about spirits?"

Thrace said nothing, so still that Garrus thought the screen was frozen.

"Dad?"

"I'm going to need a drink," said Thrace calmly. "A very big one." He walked off-screen. Garrus caught the clink of glass against glass.

His father sat down and stared at Garrus, not even a stray rumble giving away what he was thinking.

"I know you too well to bother asking _why_ you're calling to talk about spirits, Garrus, and you know me too well to have forgotten that your mother's the religious one." Thrace gave one of his dry-twig laughs. Dualla Vakarian was only religious by turian standards; compared to the rest of the galaxy, she was an atheist. "So you want my opinion." He took a deep swallow of his drink and regarded Garrus. When Thrace spoke, it was clear he had chosen his words with more than his usual precision. He wanted his meaning to be perfectly clear.

"Spirits are not an answer to prayers. It's hard for the other races to understand that. They have their gods, their protectors, and those all exist to help. That's their whole existence. Spirits are unique. They exist because we bring them into being. We call them forth, not from our need, but from the acts of living and working together. They don't help us, because they _are_ us. They may inspire, but they do not interfere. Some melding of purpose and place, honor and determination, called out of the dark." Thrace laughed again. "You caught me in a rare poetic mood. Don't tell your mother."

Garrus tried to laugh. "Can spirits change?"

"What do you think happens when a member of a squad dies, or an old building is torn down? Of course they _change_. The one thing they don't do is _leave_. Once we call them, they stay." Thrace cocked his head to the side. "Good thing it's a big galaxy. It would get pretty crowded otherwise."

"Have you heard of...ghosts?"

"_Ghosts_? Back when the first humans started showing up on the Citadel." Thrace shuddered. "It's a horrible idea. Undignified. When a person dies, they should just be dead. Gone is gone."

"Gone is gone," echoed Garrus. "Right."

His father didn't hear him. "I've often wondered what spirits would look like now that turians are serving with other races in such numbers." For the third time in the conversation, he laughed. "The spirit for my squad at C-Sec must have been one ugly bastard." His laugh cut off, and his eyes focused on Garrus, sharp and cold.

"What would the spirit of the Normandy have looked like, Garrus? Turians and humans built it. Then your Commander Shepard collected a krogan, a quarian, an asari - and you_._"He tapped his glass but didn't drink.

"It doesn't surprise me that humans came up with the idea of _ghosts_," he said. "They adapt to everything else. Why wouldn't they be the ones to find a way around death?"

Thrace took a drink. Garrus stared at his hands.

"Like I said, I'm not religious. You're just getting an old detective's ramblings. A priest would have been able to explain. Too bad they're all dead."

"It helped. I needed...clarity." Garrus tried to smile. His father didn't look convinced.

"You've never lacked that, son, only control." Thrace leaned back. "It looks like you've found that now, too. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, it suits you."

A real smile touched Garrus' face. "You have no idea," he said.

Thrace smiled back. "Good," he answered. "Garrus, there's no easy segue for this, but I need to -" He went still, head cocked to the side in such an obvious _listening_ posture that Garrus mimicked him without thinking. There was nothing to be heard, but Garrus watched Thrace close up, his body shuttering away any tells or hints of what he'd just heard.

"It can wait," said Thrace, without any emphasis. That peculiar emptiness in his voice chilled Garrus, for no reason he could pinpoint.

"Dad -"

"Your mother and sister are home," he said. "I'll tell them you said hello."

His father disconnected the call before Garrus could say anything else.

* * *

When the time came for his watch, Shepard hadn't returned. Garrus took his time with his armor, checking each piece before he put it on, but his delay was useless. Ripper's watch was finished, and the squad would comment if Garrus was a minute late. He gave his bed one last look and turned off the lights.

Ripper saluted as Garrus approached. Garrus tried to wave the gesture away. Ripper ignored him.

"Nothing to report, boss," he said. "Not even a pyjak. Looks like you've got a quiet night ahead of you."

"Just the way I like it. Thanks, Ripper."

Ripper tipped another salute and jogged back into the base. Garrus listened for his footsteps on the stairs, then for the door of the squad room to open. When the door hissed closed and he heard Ripper's footsteps overheard, he let himself sigh and slump down.

_I am not going to worry about her_, he told himself. _She'll be back._

In his gut, he was almost grateful she left. He wanted - no, he _needed _- time to process the weedy hope that woke him, that made his heart lurch and his stomach go cold.

Garrus stood up straight and let the _what-ifs_ form.

_What if Shepard is a spirit, and not a ghost at all? What if I called her back - called her into being?_

The implications made him dizzy. If he called her, would she hear?

Something moved at the end of the bridge. Training took over; as he pivoted, he brought his rifle up and sighted down the scope.

The burned woman stood at the end of the bridge. She raised her hands. Garrus kept his rifle up, marking where the burns seemed more healed, where stubble covered her scalp. Her head rocked side to side, then she trembled, a low scraping sound grinding out of her throat. The woman staggered forward, nearly falling, before she pulled herself up and faced him, her head moving in its slow arcs again.

Garrus lowered his rifle. "What are you?" he asked, pitching his voice so the squad couldn't hear.

The woman didn't answer. She twitched and shuddered, the sound forcing its way past her teeth again. A terrible, fascinated revulsion kept Garrus' eyes fixed on her, even when she dropped to her knees, clawing at her chest.

Garrus took a hesitant step toward her. His footsteps gritted on the bridge; at the sound, the woman's head jerked up, her blank gaze fixed somewhere to his left.

"No closer," she snarled. "No closer, Vakarian."

He stopped, sickened, but unafraid.

The woman licked her lips. "You have no fear of me. That's good." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, in her rich, cracked voice. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" He shifted his grip on his rifle. Her words were like falling through ice into black water.

Another shudder wracked her. When it passed through her, she planted her hands on the bridge and pushed herself upright. "I thought there was more time." A spasm ripped up her right arm; she grabbed her wrist and forced her arm to stay still. "I'm sorry," she said. Her white eyes slid over him. Garrus' hands felt numb. All he could think of was -

"Shepard."

The woman's head lifted.

"Where's Shepard?" he asked. The only answer he got was a laugh, broken and weak.

The woman's face constricted; she tried to speak, and all that came out was a thin whistle. She shuddered, eyes closed, and forced herself to talk. "She is over the hills and far away."

Garrus felt the air leave his lungs. Those words, tossed back at him from a memory he tried to ignore, chilled him. Omega's humid air felt clammy on his hide.

"No," he said. "Spirits, _no._"

"I'm sorry," said the woman. She stood straight, a pale, ruined figure in dull black armor, and held up her hands again.

"Be vigilant, my Vakarian," she said, as if every word pained her. "It will move very quickly now." She tried to say something else, but her mouth opened in a silent howl as her right arm wrenched itself back. "Vakarian, watch -"

Garrus reeled back as the woman screamed without sound, hands clawing at her face. "Can't," she cried. "Can't, can't -"

She disappeared, and the bridge was empty.

_Shepard,_ Garrus thought, bleak and cold. _Shepard._


	15. Chapter 15

It was only the memory of the burned woman's words that brought him back to his watch and the empty, silent bridge.

_Be vigilant, my Vakarian._

Her voice: possessive, assured, determined. Even as she screamed, she warned him. Was she some other part of Shepard, thrown back to guide him even though it tormented her?

Garrus forced the thought down, stamped on it, buried it deep in his head. He didn't have the skills to deal with metaphysical snarls, but he knew what he had of Shepard was all that remained of her. Spirit or ghost, Shepard was complete.

_My Shepard. My Vakarian._

Shepard called him _Garrus._ Maybe _boss_ if she felt like teasing him, or _Vakarian _when she was in one of her white furies, but never _Archangel_, and never _mine._ Shepard and the burned woman were not the same. The evidence was slim but he clung to it, the last thread of reason.

_I can't do this_. _I'm a soldier and a cop, not a priest. I don't even know what I believe in, except Shepard and my squad. If Shepard is gone, I'll never understand. I'll be blind. _

A wave of unspeakable weariness crashed into him. It washed away the numb shock and disappeared. In its wake, he felt nothing but a sliver of resolve, steel-sharp. He believed in Shepard. She would be back.

_Focus, Vakarian. Remember your training_. _Ask questions, make connections, test your theories._

The burned woman had interrupted the third step. _Call her. Spirit or ghost, maybe she'll come when you call. _

"Shepard, if you hear me -" Garrus stopped and waited until his voice was steady. "Come back," he said, soft but clear. He focused on her face, her hands, the sharp turn of her ankles. He rebuilt her in his mind. She would always come back, but she had a long way to travel. He would be patient.

Something moved behind him. Hope flared in his chest and died in an instant; he heard footsteps. Shepard moved silently. Sidonis, by the sound of it.

"Whoa, boss, you okay?" A hand touched his shoulder, two fingertips visible at the edge of his vision.

"Sidonis." Garrus turned around. "What time is it?"

"0630." Sidonis yawned. "Time for the morning meeting." He cocked his head to the side and gave Garrus a shrewd look.

"You look wrecked," he said, blunt as ever. "Bad dreams?"

"If only," Garrus said thickly, before he could stop himself. Sidonis' eyes shifted from shrewd to concerned.

"Do you need a minute?" he asked. "Looks like you've got a lot on your mind."

Any other day, Garrus might have welcomed the concern, but his nerves were shredded and he wanted to be alone so badly his head throbbed. "I'm fine," he answered, more brusque than necessary. Sidonis blinked and nodded. He walked back into the base ahead of Garrus without another word.

Shepard hadn't answered. He grabbed his worry with both hands and shoved it down, where it couldn't intrude. Repression was a temporary measure; soon enough, he'd face the full brunt of worry over Shepard and the burned woman, but his control would get him through the meeting. Sidonis' interruption was a blessing; without it, he would have stood on the bridge and driven himself crazy.

_Crazier._

Turians may not be born with self-control, but they all learn it early and well. This time there would be no mistakes. The squad wouldn't catch him talking to himself. He was Archangel.

He would wait. He would have faith. He would find the answers. And Shepard would come back.

* * *

The squad murmured sleepy greetings at him as they shoved each other for spots on the couches. Those who didn't get seats piled on top of the ones who did. Weaver came out of the kitchen last, juggling a coffee mug and an armful of datapads. She glared at Sidonis until he gave her his seat, and sat down with a triumphant grin.

"I don't know why you try, Sidonis," Garrus drawled. Sidonis looked up, startled, and relaxed when Garrus flicked a smile at him. "That's Weaver's seat."

"I'm an optimist, what can I say?" Sidonis sat down in front of Weaver, an elbow propped on his knee.

Butler snorted. "Delusional, more like."

"All right, let's get started." Garrus nodded at Weaver. "Report?"

"Blue Suns are running scared since our visit to Tarak." She waved a datapad. "A lot of them want to leave, at least until they can gather a big enough force to wipe us out. His second in command agrees, but she's not saying it to his face. Smart woman."

"Jentha's no idiot," said Ripper. "She'll tell Tarak what he wants to hear but she'll be planning contingencies for when you go after Tarak again. If Tarak goes down, she'll pull the Blue Suns off Omega. They'll be back, but not for a while."

"So let's move," said Melanis. Sensat nodded next to her and stole a sip from her cup. "I say we take out the Blue Suns now, while they're off-balance."

Garrus gave her a cool look. "What are the numbers on the Blue Suns right now, Melanis?"

She paused, reaching for her mug. "Uh, two hundred?"

"Two hundred fifty-seven," said Weaver. She blushed when Melanis glared at her but kept talking. "That's not counting the ones a few hours' travel from Omega. They could have almost five hundred here in a solar day."

Garrus pointed at her. "That's why we're not charging in."

"You don't think we could take the Blue Suns?" Ripper raised his eyebrows. "We didn't have any trouble the last time."

"The last time, we went to their boss's apartment and terrorized him while he was in his underwear," Weaver pointed out. "I'm not complaining, because it's _Tarak _we're talking about, but it wasn't exactly fair."

"Not to mention the sticky bombs and taking out his guards," added Vortash.

The squad smirked at each other.

Garrus watched them.

All the boundaries had broken down; Mierin wore one of Grundan's jackets, and Erash and Monteague picked at the same plate of reconstituted scrambled eggs. Butler had an arm over the back of the couch with his hand resting on Vortash's shoulder. Sensat stroked Weaver's hair absently.

The enormity of what he created hit Garrus all at once. The idea of the squad as a family wasn't new; they sniped and fought like siblings, but their loyalty to each other was unquestioned. What he hadn't considered was the way he stood apart from them out of necessity, like a fond but slightly distant father. He needed distance to command effectively, and never regretted it until this moment, as he sat in his chair watching the squad.

If Shepard had been there - he slapped the thought down and forced his fists to unclench.

_Focus_, he told himself, and ignored the sick yearning twisting in his gut.

"Fine," said Mierin, disgruntled and trying not to show it. "So we won't go after the Blue Suns all at once. You got any better ideas, boss?"

Garrus waited for Mierin to realize what she had said. It took her two seconds. She coughed and looked away. Sidonis nudged her foot with his. She gave him a grateful, embarrassed smile.

"I do," said Garrus. The squad watched him, their breath catching at once. No one said anything.

Only Shepard knew the idea had crossed his mind, and she didn't know how seriously he had considered it. One whispered conversation as he dozed off, then he let it fall to the side, and Shepard never brought it up again. The day-to-day operations took up most of his time, but in stolen moments, Garrus let the idea grow. Over six months, he nurtured it through a dozen incarnations, simplifying it until it become a pure, deadly whole. If there was a flaw, he couldn't see it.

Lightly, he let the idea float on the air.

"One strike, and we take them all out."

Weaver covered her mouth with her hand. No one else moved.

"You're serious," said Sidonis.

"I am," said Garrus, a little off-balance. He hadn't expected this stunned silence. The squad exchanged a flickering series of glances, communicating in some language Garrus didn't know. He felt another lurch, longing for Shepard, and ignored it. He fixed his eyes on Sidonis. "Why?"

"It's just..." said Erash thoughtfully, "it's been almost two years since you got all this started, boss." His leg jiggled, bouncing Melanis' head as she leaned on him.

"What's your point, Erash?"

"We've made a lot of headway here. Maybe it's time to think about exit strategies." Erash ducked his head as the collective gaze of the squad fell on him. "Taking everyone out at once...that means we'd be done."

"You all want out?"

"We talked about it while we were away," said Mierin. "It's not that we want out, but boss, we've got credits to spare. More than enough for everyone to get off Omega and start over. What we're saying is, maybe we should start planning the big finale."

Garrus tapped the armrest of the couch. The sound was muffled through his gloves. Everyone stared at him.

"The big finale." He turned the idea over in his head, seeing how it fit with his plan to take out every merc on Omega.

Unsurprisingly, it was a perfect fit.

His heart pounded under his ribs. The squad could do it. Not quickly, and not easily, but with the right architecture in place, the plan would work.

The squad waited for his response. He could hear them breathing.

"All right," he said. "Our big finale."

"_And a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone, and cast it into the sea, saying, Thus with violence shall that great city Babylon be thrown down, and shall be found no more at all._" Butler cracked his knuckles. When the squad looked at him blankly, he shook his head. "A bunch o' heathens, all o' ye. Revelations, Chapter 18."

Grundan leaned back into the couch cushions. "Whatever that means. But it sounded good," he added to placate Butler. The big man growled but quieted when Garrus held up a hand.

"If we're doing this, we do it carefully," he said. "I don't want anyone giving in to temptation or taking the easy way." The cold edge of his voice surprised him. "If any of you cut corners or do anything less than follow my orders to the letter, you'll deal with me." He paused. "You'll deal with Archangel."

He let that sink in. Everyone understood Garrus didn't mean they would face him if they stepped out of bounds. Archangel was more than just him; Archangel was the squad. No one wanted to be cut out of the family; it would be a paralysis of the soul.

He refused to let his mind linger on _souls_.

"The mercs are a cancer" he said. "We are the cure. And we're going to take them out so completely that none of them - not a single Eclipse, Blue Suns, or Blood Pack - will ever set foot on Omega again."

The air felt charged with restless energy. He wanted to keep going, to plan and set the first stages in motion, but the day-to-day work still waited.

"Weaver has the patrol roster for the day. Before that, I want all of you - all of you - in the range for at least an hour. I understand you all want to keep talking about this, but I want you calm. Stay focused, stay vigilant -" he winced inwardly and took a deep breath "- and we'll start the work tonight." He looked around at the squad, the simple weight of his love for them very close to the surface.

The squad sighed as one, the restless energy fading into the cool air. Garrus relaxed. They would be ready, after a day of patrols and work, to start the intricate construction of the end of an era.

He rolled his shoulders. "Dismissed," he said. The squad scattered, moving with exaggerated care, talking quietly to each other, with more casual touches than Garrus had seen before.

This wouldn't be the end of just the mercs. The squad would end, too, and they knew it.

An obscure ache settled in his chest.

_Time enough to think about goodbyes when the work is done_. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and let himself think of Shepard. _Come home,_ he thought, and opened his eyes before he could lose himself in longing.

Shepard stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand on her cheek.


	16. Chapter 16

Garrus waited until the squad left the common room before he stood up and made his way to Shepard.

He said nothing, only tilted his head up the stairs and toward their room. She nodded and vanished. Her absence sent a stab of anxiety through him.

_I should have touched her, just in case. Who cares if the squad sees? They're not even watching._

Shepard reappeared next to him, her hand slipping into his. He gripped it, too tightly at first, and forced himself to relax. They climbed the stairs without looking at each other. Garrus' legs felt numb, his heart thudded painfully in his chest. The one fixed point was Shepard's hand in his.

She stepped inside their room and waited for him to shut the door. Her eyes were fixed just over his shoulder. Everything in her posture was a defense, from the stiff line of her shoulders to the way she clasped her hands behind her back. The woman in front of him was Shepard, the Commander, the Spectre, not the woman who guided him and stood guard while he slept.

Garrus waited. Relief numbed him, but underneath moved a slow-building anger. He wanted to make sure he was in complete control before he spoke.

Shepard looked ready to wait him out, but when her gaze slid over his face, the steel in her spine disappeared and she unbent. Her hands came out from behind her back and she reached for him, but caught herself before he had a chance to reach back. He kept his hands at his sides when she retreated. Shepard watched his face, eyes squinted.

"Before I get started, how mad are you?" She folded her arms and cocked her hip. "That way I can customize my apology."

Garrus ignored the deflection. He read her face. Her mouth curved in a tight smile, the only visible sign of what she felt. No one else understood her gestures and expressions the way he did. Two years of practice had taught him to wait for sincerity.

Shepard sighed and let her arms drop. "Not going to take the bait, are you?" This time, she didn't wait for a reply. "Garrus, I'm sorry." She paused and cut her eyes to his face. When he didn't reply, she sighed again.

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"

"Should I?" he said. "These past few hours haven't been easy on me."

"I know," she said, as close to contrite as Shepard could get. "If it makes it any better, I didn't mean -"

"It doesn't make it better, Shepard." His voice was so calm it was an insult. "You didn't mean to disappear the last time either."

Shepard didn't flinch, but her expression shuttered. "Not my fault, Garrus," she answered, in a tone just as flat as his own. The distance between them seemed non-existent a few hours ago; now it opened wide, dismal and empty.

In a dark corner of his mind he was furious, but there were other fights that weighed heavier on his heart.

"What happened?"

It was the only thing he could say that wasn't an accusation or treading too close to the _how_. Shepard rubbed her cheek and looked away. Garrus took the opportunity to study her profile. Her skin was pale and freckled, but the dead white that lingered after her last disappearance was nowhere to be seen. He relaxed a fraction. Shepard caught the movement and reached for him again. He took her hand and covered it in both of his.

"I saw that woman again," she began, and stopped when Garrus squeezed her hand. "What is it? Garrus?"

"Nothing," he said. "No, not nothing. Go on."

She nodded, hesitating. "I was in the Markets down by the Gozu district. Garm was there." She gave him her sharpest smile and he let his mandibles flare in response. "You would have loved it, Garrus. They were laughing at him - _everyone _was laughing at him. Some asshole asked if Garm had heard that Archangel was dead. I thought he was going to trample everyone in sight. He got himself under control - he muttered something about a meeting and stomped off. So I followed him."

She gave him a long, searching look. Back on the Normandy, Garrus had never been able to meet her eyes when she scrutinized him like this. Now he didn't have any trouble.

Relief crashed through him again, sweet and cool. His anger stayed under the surface, ready to cut into Shepard if he let it. The turian he had been on the Normandy would have used it as a weapon.

He held it back, and it receded.

"I followed him down toward the environmental plant," she said. "I figured you'd want to know who he met with."

Garrus nodded.

"Garm kept his mouth shut on the way, so it wasn't like I could just eavesdrop for a minute and then report back. I had to stick with him. He walked for about twenty minutes before I saw her, watching us from one of those alcoves. She wasn't even trying to hide."

A needle-thin chill slipped through Garrus.

"The woman didn't look at me. She watched Garm - _glared_ at him. He passed within two feet of her and she - she hissed." Shepard shook her head and squeezed his hands. "It was creepy. Then she moved, like someone had her arm twisted behind her, and it looked like she was trying to scream." Shepard bit her lip. "She said my name, and something about time."

Garrus let his breath out in a rush. "What did you do?" he asked.

Shepard's mouth quirked. "I was going to go after her. She knows us, Garrus. She knows _the squad_." She met his eyes and Garrus realized with a jolt that Shepard was looking for his approval. "I figured that was more important than Garm's meeting."

"Yeah," Garrus agreed. "Then?"

"She wasn't there."

"She was gone?"

Shepard paused, lips parted. "No," she said. "She was right behind me."

Garrus squeezed her hand.

"You would not believe how fast she moves," said Shepard. "I turned around for one last look, and she was there." Shepard rubbed her mouth with her free hand. "She looked terrified, Garrus, even under the burns."

Garrus knew what that looked like, the scars twisting and bunching as the woman howled.

"She said something I didn't catch. Day, maybe. Her voice was a mess. I closed my eyes - I've seen worse than her but not up close, not in a long time." Shepard let her head fall back, her hair fanning over her shoulders. "When I opened them she was gone."

* * *

"That's it," said Shepard. "That's all I remember. She was gone, and I came back here."

Garrus studied her, balanced between pushing to make sure she was telling the truth and letting it go.

"Where did you go?" Hard as he tried, it still sounded like an accusation. "You were gone for hours, Shepard."

"I know," she snapped, bristling. "You think I don't? The first thing I thought was what you looked like the last time I came back." She looked away. Her hand curled into a fist between his. "I thought that's what you'd look like this time too, but when you saw me, you just looked calm."

"You told me you'd come back. And the great Commander Shepard never lies." The words tripped out of his mouth, aiming for humor and landing solidly at sarcasm.

Shepard's mouth tightened. "Garrus," she said, a steely warning in her voice. "I didn't mean to go."

He took a deep breath. "I'm tired of hearing that, Shepard."

She pulled her hand away from his and stepped back until her legs hit the bed. "I'm tired of saying it." She sat down heavily, her posture melting into soft, defeated curves. "This is the worst part," she said. "Worse than not knowing the rules, or who the hell that woman is. It's not being in control of myself. I can't fight. I can't help you." Garrus tried to protest, but a look at Shepard's face silenced him. "One touch can make me lose _hours._ I don't know if I just stood there the whole time, or if I got sent God knows where by that woman. It's bullshit." Shepard lifted her head and gave him her weariest smile, the one he saw right before they hit Ilos. "The great Command Shepard. Right."

He crossed the room in two steps, stopping just outside her personal space. Shepard reached out and curled her hand around his thigh. Her touch couldn't penetrate his armor, but he needed to feel something against his skin. He pulled off a glove and slid his bare fingers through her hair, fascinated, as always, by the way light broke against the strands, and traced the soft, inexplicable curve of her ear with a talon.

"We've been through this before," he told her. "I'll say it as many times as it needs to be said. You're with me. I've got you."

Shepard shuddered and slumped even lower, until the fragile weight of her head rested totally in his hand. "Hell if I know what I did to meet you in the first place, Garrus, but I lucked out when I found you again."

He let her rest against him, pleased beyond telling that she trusted him to see her like this. When her hand crept up to cover his, he took a deep breath. It was his turn to confess.

"I saw her too," he said. Shepard's jaw tightened under his thumb, a movement gone in an instant. "She came here, while I was on watch. She told me she was sorry, and that she thought there would be more time. She told me...to be vigilant."

"_Vigilant?_ She didn't happen to say _why_, did she?"

Garrus shrugged as best he could in full armor. She made a sharp, impatient noise and closed her eyes.

"Did she say anything else?"

"She said things were moving quickly. Looked like she was in pain, too, by the way she was moving."

"God. Like we need one more thing to worry about." Shepard pushed her head against his hand. "Maybe it's the station," she said. "Something about Omega. It collects mysteries like that woman. And me." The bleak thread in her voice returned. Garrus rubbed his thumb over her cheek, following the vanished path of her scars. "Nothing's ever easy." Shepard leaned forward until her head rested against his chest. "I guess it was too much to ask that I would stay your only mystery, huh?"

"You're still my favorite. Mostly because you don't show up to say something cryptic and then disappear again."

Shepard laughed weakly. "Those the only reasons?"

Garrus hummed. "Well. There _are _a few more now."

He felt laughter vibrate through his armor. "Just a few?"

"Have you given me more than a few? I thought you always had a few tricks saved up."

Shepard looked up, her new, private smile curving her mouth. "You want to go there, Garrus? When you've got an op to plan?"

"You heard that?"

"I did." Her smile turned fierce. "Archangel's farewell."

"Our farewell," he added. "It's not just me, remember? It's all of us."

Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Us, huh? I don't remember hearing too many details about this plan." The explanation Garrus had ready faded when she gave him a wry look. "Don't trust your spiritual advisor?"

He huffed a laugh and tried to buy himself time by playing with her hair. The truth was that he had no good reason for not telling her; a final act seemed impossible, given what they faced every day. Planning for one was a release, nothing more.

"It wasn't about trust," he said. "I never thought it would happen."

"I'm only teasing you, Garrus." Shepard leaned back and watched his face. Garrus realized, with a belated shaft of guilt, that Shepard had seen his momentary doubt, and that she laid bare her own disquiet to quell his worry.

"I didn't mean -"

Shepard cut him off with a shake of her head. She already knew what he was trying to say.

"It's fine. Once a cop, always a cop, I guess. You see a mystery and you can't afford to take anything for granted." She reached up and traced the markings over his nose with her fingertips. He watched her watch him, pupils blown wide, as a shadow crossed her face. After one last brush of fingertips over his mandible, Shepard sighed, resignation in every movement. "If I remembered what happened after she touched me, I'd tell you. I promise." Her hand dropped away. She could have made him pay for the flicker of doubt; instead, she gave him a promise. Garrus still had a lot to learn about picking his battles. At least he could let this one go.

"I believe you," Garrus said, and it was true. She leaned her head against his chest again, her hands cupping his hips over his armor. His doubt shivered and broke apart.

Comforting as Shepard's touch was, it couldn't stop the roil of worry in his gut. Planning the farewell op added one more layer to an already murky and blurred situation. He needed some guarantee - as much as he could get - that Shepard was protected.

"Shepard, if I ask you to do something, will you at least hear me out before you tell me to go to hell?" he asked.

Shepard laughed. "Sure, I'll bite. What've you got?"

"No more patrolling alone." Garrus felt Shepard lift her head, and kept up his gentle movements in her hair until she relaxed. "I'm asking, Shepard, not telling. But you've said you're stronger if you're - if you're near me. Maybe if we stay together -"

"- I won't get yanked God knows where for hours." Shepard tilted her head to meet his gaze. "You realize that'll only work if she's what sent me away, right? We still don't know for sure if it was her." She rubbed her eyes.

"Okay," she said, a moment later. "I'll give it a try. No more patrols - unless," she hesitated, "unless you're out there. Then I come too. We both get to play the overprotective game."

"You're winning," he said, relief and an absurd fondness bubbling in his chest. _It's lucky I like her so much. She'd be impossible to love otherwise._

He bent down and pressed their foreheads together. The contact eased some of the tightness in his muscles, the tension he managed to bury rising in his body. "I thought you had left again," he said. Shepard reached up to loop her arms around his cowl. "I tried to call you back, I thought..."

"You thought what, Garrus?" She pulled away to pin him with her Commander look. "Tell me."

"I thought you might come if I called you, if you were a - a spirit."

Shepard blinked at him. "A spirit."

"I can't say you're a ghost, Shepard." He didn't hide the way the word felt in his mouth. "A spirit makes more sense...as much as any of this does."

"Your point?"

"Your scars are gone. You _felt_ the Reave when it hit you. There has to be a reason why."

"And being a spirit is a reason?" she said reluctantly. "I mean, I feel - wait, no." She threw up her hands. "Whatever's happening_, _it doesn't mean I'm a spirit. Didn't you say spirits are _made?_ I - I _died. _And what about the woman? How does she fit in if I'm a spirit?" She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm arguing metaphysics with you, of all -" Shepard paused, eyes far away.

"Shepard?"

"What if it's her?" Shepard whispered. "What if the woman's the spirit, not me?"

Garrus gaped. "You're joking."

"Garrus, stop looking at me like that. Didn't you say that spirits come out of people working together?"

"Yes, but Shepard -"

"You've had twelve people - counting yourself - working together for almost two years." In moods like this, inspiration rising off her like mist off a lake at dawn, Shepard was impossible to ignore. She grabbed his wrists, almost hard enough to hurt. "If that isn't spirit material, what is?"

"You're talking to the wrong turian, Shepard." He pulled his hands back and cradled her face. "I'm not equipped to deal with this, you just said it yourself."

A shadow passed over her face. "You can deal with _me_ being a spirit, but not her?"

"We should consider it."

"No." Her voice had all the inflection and color of sleet. "We shouldn't. We don't know the rules of this thing, this _whatever _that brought me back. Hoping I'm anything but dead is a waste of time." Garrus knew his dismay was clear in his subvocals. Shepard's mouth twisted, and she changed direction, her voice soft. "What would I be the spirit of? Not the squad, I came before them. Not the Normandy crew either. Everyone's moved on." She scrubbed her hands over her face and through her hair. "I'm just me. Just dead."

_Spirits change, Shepard_. "So you'd rather be dead?" he asked.

Shepard clenched her fists. He leaned forward and brushed her hair away from her eyes, her cool skin still a marvel, still a mystery.

"Shepard?"

"Yes," she said. "I do. Then I'm still me. Whatever else happens, I'm still Shepard."

"You could never be anything else." Garrus wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her close. He needed to go check on the squad, but he didn't want to leave the conversation like this. "Are you really happy with things the way they are?"

"Yes," she said, certain as gravity. "I'm at peace, I'm still helping people, and that's more than most get when they die."

"Even though we can't really -" He let his head rest on hers, heart-weary, not knowing how to finish.

"You're not tied to me, Garrus." Shepard formed her words carefully. "If I disappear again, I don't want you waiting for me to come back." If what she was saying hurt her at all, it was impossible to tell. Shepard had carried this alone, mourning the end of _them _when he had never considered it. The grief had worn its way into her, so deep no one could see it.

"Shepard, we _are_ tied. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"I don't want you wasting your life waiting for me if -"

Garrus touched her chin with a knuckle. "That's crap and you know it."

"I'm giving you an out." She shrank in on herself, shoulders hunched.

He tried to ignore his relief when her voice wavered. "You told me being here made you stronger. I'm stronger with you here too. We're a team."

She pulled her legs up to her chest and clasped her arms around them.

"You believe me when I say I want you here, right?"

Shepard nodded.

"Then don't give me an out. I want you with me. Do I have you?"

She nodded again.

"You belong here," he said. "Shepard and Vakarian." He moved his head to kiss her. She made a tiny sound that got lost in the air between them. "Stay with me."

She nodded and touched his face with just her fingertips. "Shepard and Vakarian," she said.

He stood up and held out a hand. "Come on. I've got patrol with Butler, and the squad will start to wonder if I stay up here much longer."

Shepard's idea hung in the air, fragile as spun glass. Garrus couldn't deny its appeal. A spirit - the _squad's_ spirit - meant no threat. Not to himself, not to the squad, not to Shepard.

That left the question of why the woman - spirit or not - appeared in the first place. Until he knew that for certain, he'd follow her warning, and stay vigilant.

They had more to say, a welter of complications to parse, but he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, heading toward his room. For the last three seconds before Butler knocked on his door, Garrus focused on Shepard's hand in his.

_She kept her promise. _


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: A friend of mine is posting this update, as I will be away for most of the weekend. Apologies if there are issues!

As always, thank you for reading and reviewing! You are all lovely!

* * *

"Ready to kick some arse, boss?" Butler cracked his knuckles. Garrus repressed a shudder at the sound.

"The only _arse_ that'll be getting kicked is yours if you do that again." Garrus flipped open his rifle case, breathing in the faint smells of metal and ozone. It flipped a cognitive switch; a few lungfuls of that smell and he was ready to fight.

"I'm always jealous when I see you with your rifle," said Shepard. She ran her hand over his back on her way to the door. "Silly, I know, but I wish you'd touch me like that."

Garrus met her eyes, trying very hard to look suggestive without letting Butler see. Shepard hid a laugh behind her hand.

"Let's go," said Garrus, before Shepard could derail his thinking any further. The man pushed off the wall and shifted his SMG into the crook of his elbow.

"Lay on, MacDuff." He sketched a salute and clicked his heels before heading down the hall, whistling.

"I didn't understand that reference," Garrus murmured to Shepard. She threaded her fingers through his and pulled him after Butler.

"Old Earth playwright. Shakespeare. It's from..._Macbeth_, I think." She made an amused little sound. "Something tells me you'd hate that play, Garrus. Don't ever read it."

"Noted." He caught up with Butler at the top of the stairs. It gave him a hot golden glow of satisfaction to feel Shepard's hand in his, and beneath that, cool relief. _She's here, she's here,_ he thought, trying not to smile too widely.

Shepard caught the flicker of his mandibles and put her free hand in the crook of his elbow. "Steady there, boss," she stage-whispered. "You're not free yet."

He squeezed her hand.

Weaver swiveled in her chair as they passed, handing off Garrus' helmet. "Upgraded the comms and filtration units," she said. Garrus nodded absently. He pulled off his visor and stowed it, folded neatly, in a pouch on his arm. When he sealed his helmet, the HUD over his left eye zoomed in on Weaver and beeped twice. A half-second later, her biometric feedback scrolled past: heart rate, breathing pattern, even the contractions of her pupils. She grinned.

"You like? I know you miss your visor, so I'm trying to compensate."

"It's great, Weaver." Garrus reached out on reflex and ruffled her hair, a gesture the rest of the squad only used to annoy her. Weaver rolled her eyes, but endured the attention, blushing faintly.

Shepard coughed. _"Dad." _

Weaver turned back to her workbench. "It's still got some issues with recording kills, but I'll fix it when you get back." She typed a line of code into her omni-tool, settling her headphones around her neck. "Secure channel's open, boss. I'll let you know if I catch anything."

"Happy fishing," Butler yelled over his shoulder as he snapped his helmet in place. With the HUD still zoomed in, Garrus saw Weaver flip both middle fingers up Butler's direction. He covered his laugh with a cough as they moved down into the tunnels, and out into Omega.

It had been weeks since he patrolled with Butler, but they fell into the old rhythm easily. Butler hummed to himself, breaking into snatches of song in a rich baritone before lapsing into silence. Garrus knew Butler's repertoire by heart.

He chose their path at random, taking them past merc haunts and through abandoned ducts, never letting himself set a destination. Staying random kept them alive, and as safe as vigilantes could be.

Butler hummed at Garrus' side, SMG slung carelessly in the crook of his arm. It was all an act; Garrus knew Butler cataloged every detail of their patrol as efficiently as Erash or Sidonis. He was big, but he wasn't stupid.

Shepard ranged a few steps ahead, head down with her hands in her pockets. He know that posture by heart; it made Shepard look small and frail around the neck and shoulders, even in full armor. Tali and Kaidan scoffed at the idea that anyone would fall for the ruse, until two batarians decided Shepard was an easy mark.

_Harder to tell who was more surprised, Tali, Kaidan, or the batarians._

Garrus gave himself a mental shake and refocused on the grimy alley around him. He didn't let himself think about the Normandy crew often. His life was here, on Omega, not on the Normandy.

"It's too quiet," said Butler in between songs. "Ye jinxed us."

"My apologies," answered Garrus dryly.

Shepard laughed, tossing him a grin over her shoulder. "You're an ass, Garrus," she said. "Thank God you're pretty."

Butler grumbled to himself. "Not that I'm one to complain', boss -"

Garrus sighed. "No, not at all."

"But without Nalah, it's borin'. Give me somethin' t'shoot, or I'll go mad."

"We'll have plenty to shoot soon enough," Garrus said. "Have you heard from her lately?"

"Yeah." Butler skirted around a puddle. "Two days ago. She and her mam are fightin' all the time, but she's got a job in a clinic down in the wards with some Swiss doctor. That should keep 'em from gettin' too crabbit with each other."

"Dr. Michel?"

"That's the one." Butler cleared his throat. "Ye met the good doctor?"

"When I worked for C-Sec." His past was no secret to the squad, but other than Sidonis all those months ago, no one brought it up in his hearing. "She was part of an investigation."

"The Saren investigation?"

Garrus waited to reply, watching Shepard. She kept walking, nothing in her posture betraying she was even listening.

"Yeah," said Garrus, finally. "The Saren investigation."

Butler kicked an empty crate. "My hairy arse it was just the geth. Yer Commander Shepard got the wrong end of the stick. Nalah says I'm just bein' paranoid, but following my gut's kept me alive so far. And right now, it tells me there's more."

"There is," said Garrus. _My Commander Shepard_, he thought. Shepard half-turned her head, and he caught a fugitive glimpse of her eye before she faced away again.

"Want to talk about it, boss?"

"If you're looking for details, you'll be disappointed." Garrus tugged the collar of his armor away from his undersuit. Condensation beaded the walls around them. He resigned himself to feeling clammy until he got back to base. "It happened just the way Shepard said. She didn't make any of it up. I was there."

Shepard half-turned again, but kept walking.

"Hell of a woman," said Butler. "Hair like a fox, body like a - shit, never mind. I feel like I'm talkin' about yer wife."

Shepard didn't react, but Garrus laughed, the sound ringing hollow in his helmet. "She was a hell of a woman," he said, careful of the past tense. "Hell of a commander."

"Must have learned a lot from her." It was impossible to measure Butler's tone against his expression. Garrus sighed.

"Two years we've worked together, Butler, and you're just asking about this now?"

"I've been curious, yeah, but..."

"But what?"

"If we're comin' up to the end, I'm not gonna get another chance. I didn't before because I didn't want to piss ye off. Now it doesn't matter if ye get mad." Butler chuckled. "A few weeks, maybe months, and we're all gone."

"It doesn't have to be like that."

"What? We go all in on a ship and start rightin' wrongs all over the Terminus?" Butler let out another tired chuckle. "Nah. When we're done, I'm out. I promised Nalah. I'll have enough saved, won't have t' work, and we can get started on a family. I've made her wait long enough." He clapped Garrus on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stagger. "Whatever great thing ye do next, boss, it'll have to be without me."

"Sorry to hear it. Just make sure you keep Weaver away from your kids, Butler."

"Bite your tongue! I have enough nightmares as it is." Butler's laughter boomed over the comms.

"Give Weaver one. Tell her you'll name your daughter after her."

"Or son. Weaver works for both."

They walked in silence. Garrus watched Shepard's hair gleam under the faint lights. On the Normandy, her hair always smelled like soap, even under the smells of blood, sweat, and metal. The smell mixed in his memory with the waxy scent of the balm she used on her lips and hands. She rubbed it into her skin after every mission, massaging it into the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger.

Thinking about Shepard's hands appealed to him much more than thinking about the crease his armor wore into the backs of his thighs. Thinking about what Shepard's hands could do - had done - appealed to him even more, though it didn't leave him in the best mental place for patrols. Reluctantly, he pushed away the memory of clever fingers and focused on the rhythm of his steps, Butler's playing counterpoint.

"Did she ever tell ye her first name?" asked Butler.

"It's J-" Garrus froze as Shepard turned around, eyebrow arched. She shook her head, the private smile slipping across her mouth. "Weaver's first name? No," he corrected. "You?"

Butler hadn't noticed his slip. "Nah. Sidonis and I even checked the records, and wouldn't ye know it? She _erased_ it. Just says "Not Applicable" now."

They shared a comfortable laugh and lapsed into a well-worn silence as they walked, eyes front. Garrus felt himself warming to Butler, more than usual. He had been the first to join, with bloody fists clenched under a wide grin, and he never faltered. If the squad broke up, the quiet patrols ended. The morning and nightly meetings, the shared meals, the casual touches: all gone.

It was the right choice. The squad could fight for the rest of their lives, but they deserved freedom.

_So do I_, thought Garrus. On the heels of that, he realized he'd never considered a future after Omega. Beyond the distant threat of the Reapers, his life had been contained on the station for the past two years, focused on the present. His life had been the squad, the work, and Shepard.

What could come next for the two of them? Palaven, to see his family? Searching Tali out on the Migrant Fleet? Risking his neck and visiting Wrex on Tuchanka?

_Virmire,_ he decided. _We'll go to Virmire, and see if Ash is there. It's possible. And even if she's not, we'll say goodbye. After that, we'll go exploring. Find something interesting. Maybe something interesting will find us._

Shepard ran her fingers through her hair. He watched the movement, a small part of him still amazed she was back at all. His thoughts seemed to arc through the air between them. She turned around as she passed through a bar of light, her skin and hair illuminated. Garrus' heart clenched, hunger and love twined so closely they couldn't be separated. Shepard watched him with the smile teasing the corners of her mouth, her eyes hot as she drank him in.

The middle of patrol was no place for revelations, but that didn't stop Garrus from having one.

She was tied to him, _forever. _Till death and onward.

Shepard watched him, impatient and kind - and yes, even beautiful. _Finally_, said her smile. _You finally get it, Garrus._

_I do._

Weaver's voice crackled over the comm. "Boss? Butler? Got something for you."

The moment broke apart and vanished into the air.

"Thank God," sighed Butler. He shifted his SMG and checked the thermal clip. "Please let it be Blood Pack, haven't killed one o' them in weeks."

"Not sure - I'm picking up weird comm chatter from the Gozu district. Sounds like strange things are afoot at the Circle K."

"Is that code?" Garrus asked, irritation creeping into his voice. Human cultural references were beyond him; Weaver tended to use them at the worst possible times.

"Sorry, boss. Bad joke. There's a lot of interference down there that close to the environmental plant, but I'm zapping the coordinates to your 'tools." She paused. Garrus heard her suck in a breath. "Uh, looks like it's near Nalah's old clinic. And I'm hearing vorcha. Lots of vorcha."

Butler laughed, entirely without humor.

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "God," she said. "His mods are already kicking in. That was fast."

"Want me to patch you in, boss?" Weaver's voice wavered, and not just from static. Butler in full Berserker mode was terrifying even from a distance.

"No." Butler wasn't going to wait. "You sure it's just vorcha and not Blood Pack?"

"I'm sure. Blood Pack would've announced themselves. These are just scavengers. No trouble for you guys, but for the clinic -"

"Yeah. All right, Weaver, stay patched in. I'm letting Butler off his leash."

"Copy that, boss. Good hunting."

Shepard met his eyes across the alley and nodded.

_I'm with you._

He glanced at Butler. "We're fifteen minutes away."

"We can make it in twelve," said Butler. His voice was tight, the adrenalin thickening his words until they were almost unintelligible.

"All right then, twelve," said Garrus, and stopped talking. He needed every breath for running.

* * *

They made it to the clinic in just over ten minutes, but they were too late.

The smell of charred flesh and urine overpowered their armor's air filters. Garrus smelled the rich salt-tang of blood and tried not to gag.

"Ah, Jesus," said Butler around a thick tongue. "This is a fuckin' mess." He shuddered. Garrus didn't envy him the headache and sore throat that came with the Berserker mods.

"Agreed," Garrus murmured, looking down at the trail of bodies.

At the sound of their voices, a dark-suited figure turned its head.

"Friend or foe?" asked a thin salarian voice.

"Depends," Butler panted. Garrus pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

"Shut up and stay back until you get yourself under control, Butler," he hissed over the secure channel. Butler growled but obeyed, taking a step back to stand flush with the wall. Shepard moved up to flank the salarian, eyes on the door leading to the clinic.

Garrus keyed the open channel. "Friend," he said. "We came to help."

"Appreciated but not necessary," said the salarian cheerfully. "Problem handled. Vorcha never expected a doctor to be a threat." The salarian regarded Garrus, tapping his mouth with a finger. "Not mercs. Don't smell like smugglers. Don't smell sick either. Hard to tell through armor. Not moving like you're sick. Weapons and armor well-used, custom modifications. Human and turian alliances on Omega, not long-lived outside of merc groups. Must be..." The salarian threw his hands in the air, radiating satisfaction. "Archangel."

"Damn," said Shepard, and whistled. "Did he breathe at all?"

"Archangel," Garrus confirmed.

"Yes. Couldn't be anyone else." The salarian holstered his pistol and straightened up. "Assistance appreciated, but redundant."

"So it seems." Garrus counted at least seven corpses in the hallway, and a shadow that might be an eighth at the end of the hallway. "Impressive," he said, nodding at the dead vorcha.

The salarian shrugged, unbothered by the fact that he couldn't see Garrus' face, or that Butler still panted and shuddered against the wall. "Thought I was harmless. Were mistaken."

"Big time," said Shepard. "I count five headshots out of eight, Garrus. Not bad for a doctor. I guess Erash and Sensat aren't outliers."

"Are your patients safe?" he asked.

"Completely. Armed guards at clinic."

"But you came?"

"Of course. Only one who could get job done. Now must get back to work. Body disposal simple. Incinerator in back of clinic." He shook his head at the vorcha. "Such a waste of evolutionary abilities."

"We'll leave you to it," said Garrus. Compassion for vorcha. Now he had seen everything.

The doctor waved him away, his attention fixed on the corpses. A moment later, as Garrus, Butler and Shepard rounded the corner, he called out.

"Archangel!"

Garrus turned back.

"Dangerous mission. Possibly stupid. Risk of injuries great. Come here if help needed. Will help, discreetly." The salarian nodded at Butler. "For our mutual friend. Tell guards Mordin told you to come."

Shepard elbowed him. "Looks like you made a friend."

_Looks like._

"Thanks, Mordin. Much appreciated."

"Happy to help." Mordin grabbed one of the corpses by its feet and started to drag it down the corridor. Garrus turned away, just in time to watch Butler crumple slowly to his feet.

Mordin dropped the corpse and moved lightly to Garrus' side, peering down at Butler. "Not good," he said. "Daniel! Aurelius! Assistance required!"

Garrus rolled Butler on his back. The human's entire body was limp, dead weight, but his biofeedback readings were steady, if weak.

"He's huge," said a turian in a medical tunic as he rounded the corner. "Let me guess, Berserker mods."

Garrus nodded. "Full complement."

"Dammit," sighed the other assistant, a human male with reddish hair and beard. "They're notoriously unreliable. We'll have to sedate him."

"Not till you check for hemorrhaging," said Mordin. "Get him into private room before removing armor. Privacy, privacy. Follow me," he said to Garrus.

It took Mordin and both assistants to get Butler onto a cot. Garrus tried to help but Mordin pushed him back, gentle and implacable.

"Sit," said Mordin, pointing at a chair. "Stay out of wayl" He sent his assistants away with a wave and set to work on Butler's armor.

"Not expecting to see you so soon," said the doctor cheerfully. "Mods giving him trouble. Not surprised. Berserker mods unreliable, like Daniel said. Long-term use leads to neural damage, toxin build-up. How long have mods been in use?"

"How long?" Garrus looked up. "Uh, two years. At least."

Mordin made a short, disgusted sound. "Should be replaced every six months. Poisoning himself. Vigilantes! High aspirations, terrible execution."

Garrus felt obscurely insulted. "We do good work," he snapped. Mordin shone a light in Butler's eyes and waved his free hand.

"Good work on Omega. Battle never ends. Personal responsibility too heavy, makes for stupid mistakes." He jabbed a finger into Butler's chest. "Case in point."

Hard as he tried to come up with one, no reply came. Garrus leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He hadn't realized how exhausted he was, but moments after he sat down, he was asleep.

* * *

Someone knocked on his helmet. Garrus swung his arm on reflex, but the someone stepped deftly away and knocked again. A headache started to throb at the base of his skull, courtesy of the stale air in his helmet and the awkward position of his neck.

"Off, off," said Mordin. "Now, please."

With a groan, Garrus pulled his helmet off, too tired to worry about protecting his identity. After breathing triple-filtered oxygen for hours, the musty, cool air of the clinic felt coarse in his lungs.

"Why are you examining me? I'm fine."

"Why not? Head back."

"Head back where?" He swallowed and winced at the taste of his own mouth.

"_Tilt_ head back." Mordin sighed and pushed Garrus' head back with a finger under his chin. "Open mouth."

Garrus obeyed absently. He looked around for Shepard, and found her in a corner, arms folded over her chest.

Mordin muttered under his breath and pushed Garrus' mouth shut. "No mods?"

"Just the standard turian military mods. Anti-radiation, inoculations -"

"Vaccines for sexually transmitted illnesses?"

"Uh, yes." Garrus smiled weakly, casting another glance at Shepard. She did a fair job of resisting a smile.

"Good, good," said Mordin. "Just exhausted. Stress of self-appointed position. Recommend rest. Safe for you to leave. Have to tend other patients."

"What about Butler?"

Mordin sniffed. "Extreme case. Surprised reaction didn't show up sooner. Will need to keep for detoxification and upgrades to modifications." Shepard glanced up as Mordin spoke, but still refused to meet Garrus' eyes. He couldn't angle himself to force her to look without Mordin noticing. Frustration mounting, he pushed himself up.

"Thanks," he said, a little stiffly. Mordin waved away his thanks, already impatient to get back to work.

"None needed. Will have Butler contact you with progress updates. Discretion top priority."

"Appreciated."

Mordin smiled thinly. "Can accept help. Pride not a failing. Good to know. Makes you dangerous."

"And here I thought it was just the rifle and years of training," said Garrus, with a last glance at Shepard.

Mordin chuffed laughter. "No, no. Those just accessories. Pride makes you stupid. Not proud, not stupid."

"Right," said Garrus. His head throbbed. The walk back to the base stretched out ahead of him. Tempting as it was to ask Mordin for painkillers, he resisted. He already owed the salarian enough. "Tell that to the mercs."

"No need," said Mordin. He bent over Butler again, who snored on his cot, pale but peaceful. "Go now. Not safe to linger. Get rest."

Garrus nodded, not sure what else to say. He decided on silence, and risked another glance at Shepard.

"Hallucinations going on long?"

Shepard's head lifted, eyes wide, and met his gaze across the room. Garrus felt a familiar needle-thin dread slip through him. He steadied himself before he replied.

"Hallucinations?" he asked, keeping his voice light. "Isn't that worth keeping me for?"

Mordin made a graceful gesture. "Not particularly severe ones. Barely worthy of the name. While asleep, talked to someone named Shepard. When awake, looked around room. Not hard to surmise: still grieving for old commander. Sentimental. Not threatening." He sniffed. "Not interesting either."

Shepard shifted, ever so slightly.

"I...see." Garrus tore his eyes from Shepard's with an effort and focused on Mordin. "Any suggestions?"

"Let go," answered Mordin without a pause, without looking up. "Shepard gone. Death sad, but insurmountable. Best not to hold on to grief. Waste of time. Remember good she did. That is enough."

Shepard looked like someone had slapped her.

"Thanks for the professional opinion," said Garrus. "I'll take it under advisement." He slid his helmet on and breathed in filtered air as the seals closed. Mordin's reply was almost lost.

"You won't. Tied to past." Mordin sniffed again. "Sentimental."

* * *

"I'm sorry," said Garrus, just as Shepard said "Don't apologize." Silence between them stretched out, thin as crystal, sharp enough to cut. Garrus reached out and hooked his fingers around Shepard's elbow.

"Keep patrolling?" asked Shepard. "Or home?"

_Forget worrying, just for now. Time for that later._

"Home," he said. "I've had enough of Omega for one day."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: This chapter contains explicit material. Read at your own risk.

* * *

Garrus' headache burst into full, ferocious life when they got back to the base. Too many bright lights, too many voices clamoring for news.

"Enough," he growled as soon as his helmet was off. Weaver scooped it out of his hands and retreated to her workbench, already focused on upgrades. "Unless someone wants to explain why Butler never bothered to mention his mods were out of date, get back to work."

The squad scattered, except for Sidonis. He hovered behind Garrus, the faint sour smell of his worry cutting through the pain in his head.

"Was it that bad?" he asked. "Butler'll be okay?"

"He'll be fine," Garrus answered. "We were close to Nalah's old clinic, so I left him with her boss."

"The salarian? Spirits, he's crazy, isn't he?"

_Among other things._ "He might be crazy, but he's solid. Butler's going to be fine."

"Yeah, thanks. I just wanted to know. Thanks." Sidonis shifted. "You okay, boss?"

"I'll be fine. Grundan and Ripper are patrolling? Where are they?"

"Uh, Diulo District, last time I checked."

"Tell them to come on home." Garrus paused as a vicious throb sliced through his head. Shepard slipped her hand into his and let him squeeze her fingers until the pain receded. The sour smell thickened, but he kept his silence while Garrus steadied himself.

"Once everyone's in and fed, we'll start talking strategy." His armor chafed against his cowl. "I'm going to hit the showers."

"Got it." Sidonis moved off, taking the smell of his distress with him, murmuring into his comm.

Garrus rubbed his mandibles. Without his visor or helmet, he felt naked, but the thought of any extra weight made the headache send spikes of heat through his head.

"Shower." Shepard nudged him gently. Without her arm around his waist, he would have tripped over his own feet before he got to the stairs. He missed the top step and leaned on her briefly, closing his eyes. She held his weight, her free hand gripping his arm. When he was steady enough to go on, she tugged him toward their room.

Her fingers stuttered over the seals and clasps of his armor, but she managed without needing his help. His undersuit gave her more trouble; he heard her swear as she tugged on his tunic.

Finally, his clothes were off. Shepard ran her palms over his carapace. "You go get started," she whispered. "I'll be there in a minute."

He stumbled into the shower, navigating the gloom with a hand on the wall. For once, the water was cool and not slimy. He stood under the stream with his head tilted back, mind a blank. Shepard's hand on his back made him jump.

"Sorry," she said. "I can go, if you want." She already knew his answer, and a moment later, he felt her hands sliding over his cowl. He leaned his head against the wall. Shepard wrapped her arms around his carapace and linked her hands just above his waist.

"Oh," he gasped as her body pressed against his back. "You're -"

"I am." She wriggled closer, all cool, naked skin. "Not a hint, don't worry. Just feels good." She rested her head against the back of his cowl and stroked his carapace, her fingers sliding over the fresh-healed scars.

"Should I get the oil?" she asked. Garrus barely heard her over the water.

"Not now. Just...stay with me."

"Okay." Shepard nestled closer. "I never want to leave you, you know."

"I know." He tilted his face up into the spray. His headache began to recede. Shepard's hands moved in lazy circles, a low hum in her throat. Garrus breathed slowly and let the stress leave his muscles.

Shepard laughed against his cowl. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Mhm." He trapped her hands with his and stroked her wrists with his thumbs. "Nowhere I'd rather be."

"Not sniping mercs from three hundred meters? Not sleeping?"

"Maybe sleeping. But only if you're there to watch." He turned around. "No time for that now."

"Have to present your big plan." Shepard stepped into the circle of his arms and stretched on tiptoe to kiss him under the jaw. He shivered, almost missing her smirk. Desire sparked in his belly, so fierce it made him dizzy. The air nearly crackled with how badly he wanted her.

"You know exactly what you're doing, Shepard."

"Always," she said, and traced the spot she just kissed with the tip of her tongue.

He placed his feet carefully on the wet tiles and scooped her up. Shepard giggled - _giggled!_ - and kicked her feet.

"I've never heard you make that noise before," he said, all fake amazement. The pretense distracted him from the heat in in his groin.

"Smart ass," Shepard said, her voice muffled as she licked his neck. He stumbled when she nipped at the skin underneath his mandible.

"A-ha. That's what you get."

Garrus managed to get to their bed without incident, and dropped her to the mattress. "You know, if I fall, you go down with me."

Shepard rolled over to make room as he climbed next to her. "Thought that was obvious." Her hand slipped past his carapace, over his waist, and stopped just above the plates at his groin.

"Is there time?" she asked. She bit her lip and looked away, but he caught her expression before she hid behind her hair.

"There's time," Garrus answered, and kissed her till he was breathless.

* * *

He couldn't help shivering as she pressed a finger between his plates to trace the seam of his sheath.

Shepard gave him one of her arch looks. "I'm not going to tease you, don't worry," she said. "I need this."

"Need this?"

She sighed. "What Mordin said...about death being insurmountable. I know it's stupid, but sometimes I - sometimes I forget. Watching you work makes me feel like things could be the way they were, back on the Normandy, but then I remember." She managed to shrug gracefully while lying on her back. "Like I said, it's stupid."

"It's not." He bent his head to reach the hollow under her ear, to the cluster of soft, golden-down hair, and lavved the skin with the point of his tongue. "I'll remind you as many times you need. We're here, together. Shepard and Vakarian." He spoke into her skin, catching her earlobe with his mouth. Shepard jerked under him, her hand slipping through his plates as they spread. The cool pressure of her fingers against his sheath overrode any other sensation; his cock slid free, already hard.

He buried his face against her neck. "I want -" he gasped. _Where did this hunger come from? _he wondered faintly. She swung one leg over his hip and pulled him close, his cock trapped against her thigh.

"Come on then," she whispered. "Come on." The same hunger was in Shepard's voice too. Garrus slid a hand under her back and lifted her, angling her hips so he could enter her in one smooth stroke.

"Gar-!" Shepard's eyes fluttered closed, her body stretching taut under him. She linked her hands just under his fringe and drew his head down until their foreheads touched. Her eyes opened at the contact, holding his gaze. His breath broke against her face and neck.

"More, _please,_" she half-sobbed, and squeezed her legs around him. "Please..." Her hands moved over his neck in desperate stutters.

Impossible to refuse her. Garrus started to thrust, a long roll of his hips against hers that left him buried to the hilt before he withdrew slowly. Shepard dug her fingers into his neck with a sharp gasp.

"Yes," she hissed, arching her back. The tight muscles of her cunt clenched around him, urging him to hurry, but Garrus understood what she needed. Not speed, not even pleasure - but grounding. A reminder she was here. That she came back.

She mewled and broke their gazes to set her teeth to his neck. He laughed weakly. Everyone thought turians were biters, but Shepard put him to shame.

"More," she gasped into the corner of his mouth. "Please, make me feel you, all of you."

He cupped her face with his hand, never changing his rhythm, and kissed her as best he could. His mouth felt stiff and clumsy against hers, but she wriggled and clutched at him when he darted his tongue between her lips, hitching his name in between moans.

"Please, come on," she begged. "I'm so close, _please._"

Garrus slipped his hand between their bodies. Shepard went still, eyes wide, and a fine tremble started in her thighs.

"Yes, I - Garrus!" She cried out when his finger found her clitoris. His touch was light, only a beginning, but she arched into him, her cunt clenching around him helplessly.

Shepard never looked more alive than she did then, mouth open like she was snatching a breath to scream, eyes never leaving his as she rode out the sensation. Moments later, a handful of thrusts, and he came, his cock still squeezed by the last ripples in her cunt.

Shepard shook in his arms, eyes rimmed red. Her hands cradled his face, something wild and unfamiliar in her expression.

"Thank you," she said in a ragged voice. "You just understand. You just -" She closed her eyes. "God, Garrus." She pressed her forehead to his and he closed his eyes, sighing as the afterglow faded from his body.

They clung to each other in silence, the urgency gone.

"Will it always be like this?" he asked. "Needing, wanting each other like this?"

She rubbed her cheek on his. "I don't know," she said slowly. "But I'm fine if it is."

* * *

Later - long enough to lose track of time - Garrus groaned. "I have to get up," he murmured into Shepard's hair. She sighed and unwound her legs from his. His clothes lay in a pile at the foot of their bed, where he dropped them, but his armor was sealed away in its case. He turned to thank Shepard, but her face was hidden behind her hair as she pulled her underwear over her hips. She didn't see.

He dressed without talking, enjoying the warm silence between them. His worry seemed very far away, and very small, too.

"Are you ready?" asked Shepard. "It's your big moment." She watched him from their bed.

"The moment belongs to everyone." Garrus fastened the last clasp of his casual clothes and looked at Shepard in his mirror. "You too, even if only I know it."

"Strange how they've just accepted you knowing things. No one's ever commented, and they're not stupid." Shepard tilted her head and smiled. "They want to believe the legend of Archangel too."

"Legend?" Garrus coughed, embarrassed. "I'm no legend."

He waited for Shepard to make a joke, but she kept her elliptical smile in place and didn't reply.

"All right," he said. "Let's get this over with."

Shepard's smile slipped away as she caught the rough edge of his subvocals. "You really don't want it to end, do you?"

He shrugged, any melancholy fading beneath the bright pleasure he took in Shepard understanding the nuances of his voice. "It's like you said, Shepard. I don't know who I am without a gun in my hand."

"You'll figure it out," she said. "But that's not all of it. You'll miss them."

_Except for Weaver_, he tried to joke, but the words got lost somewhere between his head and his mouth. For all the distance - necessary distance - between himself and the squad, he _knew _them.

He knew no one liked Erash's cooking, but no one would ever say so. He knew Weaver never threw away the Blasto action figures that Sensat and Sidonis bought for her, even though she claimed she had. Everyone knew Vortash was in love with the sisters, but Garrus was the only one who knew which of the sisters loved him back. They had no secrets from him. It felt like a cheat to keep one from them, even if that secret was Shepard.

"Of course I'll miss them," he said. He tugged on his gloves. "I've led them for two years, Shepard. Even if we stay in touch after this, it's not going to be the same. Butler will have his family, and the rest - they won't be the squad anymore."

"Name one of them who wouldn't drop everything if you asked for their help," said Shepard. "You did more than lead them. You gave them something to fight for, a chance to get justice, but you gave them a family. They won't forget that, or you."

A burst of laughter from the common room saved him from having to reply. _If this is the end,_ he thought, _then we'll make an ending no one will forget. Not the mercs, not us. _

"Come on, Garrus," said Shepard. "Time to get started." She followed a step behind as he went down the stairs. The squad went quiet when they saw him, faces lit with tentative excitement.

"We're ready," said Monteague.

* * *

Garrus took his seat.

"It all boils down to math," he said. "There's twelve of us, and hundreds of them. We need a way to wear them down, so we're going to use their numbers against them."

The squad waited.

"They're all running scared - Blue Suns, Eclipse, Blood Pack. We've personalized it for each of them, and no mistake, they're gunning for us. But what they won't expect is a squad that fights two wars at the same time."

Melanis chewed her thumbnail, but none of the others moved.

"Starting tomorrow, three patrols will go out. Each patrol has one job: find a merc, kill them."

"That's it?" said Sensat. Erash elbowed him, hissing.

Garrus grinned. "The next day, they find two, and kill them. The day after, three," Garrus leaned back. "I'm talking clean kills. Precision assassinations. I don't even want them to see us."

"Huh," said Sidonis. "And then four, and five. At the end of the week, eighty-two are dead."

"Eighty-four," said Ripper.

Sidonis balanced his foot on the opposite knee. "Whatever. That takes out a big chunk of the mercs, but guerrilla kills'll take too long."

"That's part one," said Garrus. "We have to herd them where we want them first."

"Ooh, more psychological fuckery," said Weaver. "It worked pretty well with Tarak. Blue Suns were never gonna leave, but they're so freaked they haven't been able to mount any major operations."

"Exactly. After one week of that, we bring in the second group." Garrus let his mandibles flare wide in a hungry, vulpine grin. "The heavies."

Loyalty was a hit-or-miss concept with the big merc groups, especially in the lower levels, but a common fear always acted as a great equalizer. Once the mercs realized they presented easy targets in small numbers, they'd band together in groups.

"This is where you get creative." Garrus pointed at Erash and Weaver. "I don't care about subtlety, I want whatever you've got that will rack up the body count, fast."

"We're the shock squad, in other words," said Erash.

"Hell yes." Weaver punched his shoulder. Erash grinned through a wince.

"Wherever they are, we hit them. Numbers won't keep them safe, and they already know we can find them if they try to hide." The memory of Tarak cowering in bed threatened to make him laugh, but Garrus resisted. "We've disrupted their shipments, freed their slaves, wrecked their ships. We've never taken the fight to them before. As long as we keep hitting them on two fronts, they won't get back up when we knock them down."

"What about the smaller groups? The Talons, and the freelancers? That's another hundred mercs on the station." Melanis bit through her thumbnail with a crack.

"Leftovers," said Vortash.

"Not leftovers," Garrus corrected. "If the opportunity strikes, take them down too. Our focus has to be on the main groups. They're the ones who can call in major reinforcements."

"I think I've got something that can help with that," said Weaver. "Even when the mercs change comm channels, they still use the same shorthand. It's specific to each group. As long as my hacks stay active, I can track key phrases. If they call for help, we'll have enough warning to make docking here a really bad idea."

"Then stay on the hacks. Sensat, Grundan, Ripper, you're on the Shock Squad with Erash and Weaver. You're looking at high-risk infiltrations, so I need you ready to move fast and light. No heavy weapons. Stick to pistols and SMGs."

"We've got some surprises in the latest combat drones," said Erash. He leaned forward,his hands clasped in front of his face, eyes focused on the ceiling. "Shield blockers, jamming tech -"

"Good. Get them tested and installed." Garrus shifted. He wished he could see Shepard, but but he felt her presence at his back. For now, it was enough. "Now, the Kill Squads.

"Mierin, Melanis, you're on Blood Pack. Reave the bastards and pick them off while they're down."

"Singularity won't hurt either," said Mierin. She gave her sister a tight, fierce smile.

"Vortash, Sidonis, you've got Eclipse. Keep the vanguards at range - same as always. Get the combat drones from Erash, you're going to need them.

"Monteague, you're with me. We'll take the Blue Suns."

"Fuckin' A" said Monteague. "I was so sad I missed out on Tarak in his unmentionables."

The squad started shouting, a chorus of insults all aimed at Tarak. Garrus laughed, surprised by a sudden, sharp burst of affection.

"All right, all right, enough," he said, still laughing. "Save it for when he's dead. He'll be easier to laugh at then."

As the squad quieted, Sidonis turned to Garrus. A whiff of the sour smell of worry made its way into the air. Garrus knew what Sidonis was going to ask before the other turian's mouth opened.

"What about Butler?"

"For now, we work without him." Garrus let himself grin. "But when he's back, I think he'll fit right in on the Shock Squad."

* * *

Sensat flopped back against the couch cushions, boneless with exhaustion. "Damn," he muttered.

Garrus stretched. His neck ached from bending over the table for the past four hours, but his head felt scooped clean and peaceful. "All right," he said. "We're good." The squad dropped their stiff postures and fell against each other, yawning and reaching for water bottles or coffee mugs gone cold.

Weaver shut down the three-dimensional map of Omega's interior. "I'll upload this to your 'tools," she said. "The first two rounds of Shock Squad sites are marked, along with the new patrol routes."

"So don't get careless and forget which sectors are no-go zones," said Garrus. He looked around the room. "Questions?"

The squad shook their heads. The strain of planning showed on everyone's faces. Putting muscle and skin on the skeleton of Garrus' plan had worn them out.

"Get some sleep. We start early. Mierin, you have first watch."

As the squad filed away, arguing over who had first right to the showers, Garrus slouched in his chair and glanced to his left. Shepard smiled at him from the stairs, the slightest curve of her lips.

_Can't wait to see what she thinks_. It was a challenge not to grin back.

"Boss?" Sidonis hadn't moved from his seat on the couch. His tunic lay bunched over his cowl and carapace, and he smelled nervous.

"Sidonis?" Garrus rubbed his neck.

"Got a question. Not about the plan. You have a minute?"

"Sure." Garrus shifted to rest his cowl against the back of his chair and waited while Sidonis gathered himself.

"You've got a plan for what happens after Omega, right?"

That was not the question Garrus expected. A rill of unease went through him, and he told himself to tread lightly.

"Not much of one," he said honestly. "I'll worry about that when Omega's clean and we're all safe."

Sidonis bobbed his head in a nervous nod. "It's just - I was thinking. I don't have anywhere to go, really, and I was wondering - if you need help, whatever you're going to do, I'm there."

Garrus heard Shepard's satisfied laugh. He focused on Sidonis' pebble-green eyes.

"You're asking to keep working with me?"

Sidonis gave him the nervous nod again. "Yeah. I am. I mean, you do good work. I want to keep helping, you know?"

"Told you," said Shepard, the first time she'd spoken since they left their room. "A legend already." Her voice was serious, no hint of teasing now.

Garrus considered. He'd thought the other turian wanted what the rest of the squad wanted: a fresh start, free from grief and hopeless fury. To find out that Sidonis wanted to keep going - well, that was a surprise.

Of all the squad, Sidonis was the only one who'd been clear about why he wanted to fight the mercs on Omega. The Eclipse killed Kavalix, and Sidonis hadn't been there to save him.

Anger could be a powerful motivator, but Garrus had seen Sidonis when he faced Eclipse. Grief fueled him, not anger, and it made him controlled, precise. For all his jokes, Sidonis had learned how to make his emotions work for him, as armor.

"To be honest," said Garrus carefully, "I haven't decided what I want to do next."

Sidonis leaned forward, the sharp citrus tang of anticipation surrounding him. How humans got by without pheromones was a question he would never answer. By the way Sidonis' posture relaxed slightly in disappointment, he knew Sidonis had smelled the faint, musty scent of refusal, and he softened what he was going to say.

"Our focus needs to be on following the plan through to the end. Once the mercs realize this is more than just disrupting them, they won't stop until we're just smears on the wall. When that's done - then we'll talk, Sidonis."

Sidonis nodded. He didn't like the answer, but he recognized the refusal, and the inferred order to _wait._ No one but a turian would resist the urge to argue.

"Anything else, Sidonis? There's a lot of work to be done."

"Nothing, boss." Sidonis' disappointment shaded his subvocals briefly, then he straightened, focus returning to his gaze. "Thanks for hearing me out."

"I mean it," said Garrus, surprised by the sudden urge to reassure Sidonis. "We'll talk."

"Provided we're all alive," laughed Sidonis, his skewed good humor returning. "Thanks."

He nodded and watched Sidonis walk toward the kitchen. The empty common room settled into dry silence around him.

"That was well-handled," said Shepard. Her hand fell on his shoulder, and he reached up to stroke her fingers, a single fugitive touch. "Am I missing something with him? Is he -?"

Garrus glanced at the kitchen. Sidonis' back was to him. He pitched his voice low, barely a thrum in the air.

"He's not," said Garrus. "It's a turian thing." He imagined Shepard's expression: the twist of her mouth, the arched eyebrows, and hid a smile. She would make him explain later, not resting until she peeled back every layer of meaning, squeezed him for every nuance.

Making her wait was all part of the game. It frustrated her to not have all the information she wanted, as soon as she wanted it, but a frustrated Shepard was an interested one. He took a risk, teasing her out like this, but he was tired, and her bright regard - her _interest_ - made the exhaustion fall away.

She wove her fingers through his. "Watch the mercs, Garrus. Fear makes people stupid, but it makes them creative, too. And you're about to terrify them."

"I know," he murmured. Garm's voice echoed in his head.

_I'm gonna find your little toadies, Archangel, and when I do, I'll feed you their eyes._

His stomach lurched. "Once the Kill Squads go out tomorrow, we can't stop until every merc is dead."

Neither of them said _Or until we are_, but it echoed between them.


	19. Chapter 19

Time did funny things when the world narrowed to what you could see through a rifle scope. Garrus couldn't remember how long he crouched behind the old cargo loader, but the batarian had finally taken off his helmet. Ten meters closer, and Garrus would have taken the shot, helmet or no. The extra distance made him wait.

He breathed in and held the air in his lungs. The batarian turned to face Garrus, yelling to someone out of view. Garrus was too far away to hear what the merc said.

"Hope they were good last words," said Shepard.

He squeezed the trigger. The merc stumbled and collapsed, a tiny hole above his left eyes.

"Six," said Monteague over the comms.

Garrus lowered his rifle and waited. Another shot rang out, loud over the comms, and Garrus watched a body tumble out of the cargo containers, blue and white armor spattered with red. At his nod, Shepard blinked out.

"Seven," he said. "We're all through here, Monteague. Meet me at the ducts. I want to be at the base before the Shock Squad moves out."

"Copy that."

Garrus swung down to the warehouse floor and waited for the heat shimmer at his side. He didn't wait long.

"Everything's quiet at the front of the warehouse. They don't have a clue." Shepard gave him a hard little smile. "But they will, as soon as they radio back and don't get an answer."

Monteague was already in sight, so Garrus contented himself with a nod in Shepard's direction.

They ignored the bodies. Garrus made it clear that these hits weren't for credits or mods. Wherever the mercs fell, the squad left them alone.

This was about the _message_.

As Garrus approached, a patch of flecked gold on Monteague's back caught his eye. He tilted his head to zoom in, and saw two wide-spread wings surrounding a human letter "A".

Shepard grinned at the corner of his vision.

"That's new," he said. "Had some free time, Monteague?"

The man shrugged. "We all did it. Figured, what the hell? The mercs know who we are, so why hide it? If they get close enough to see it, either they're dead or we are." His eyes, dark and almond-shaped, met Garrus' through their visors. "You said it, boss. Archangel's an army."

The sad, fierce pride twisted in Garrus' chest. "I can't argue with that," he said. "Punch in the hack."

Monteague knelt over of the duct, omni-tool glowing. "Fuck this," he grumbled. "I miss omni-gel."

"Which leaves traces," said Garrus. "Weaver's hack won't, not obvious ones."

"Yeah, yeah." Monteague stood and silenced his omni-tool as it beeped. The duct's cover slid open in a blast of sewer air. A ladder, corroded and covered in slime, disappeared into the dark. The human gestured expansively. "After you, boss."

Garrus rolled his eyes and swung down to the first ladder rung. He hoped his shower was working.

Monteague climbed down after him and sealed the duct cover back in place. The golden wings on his back shone briefly in the darkness.

* * *

Back at the base, the golden wings greeted Garrus wherever he looked. He wanted to warn against them - too much like tempting fate - but Weaver interrupted, bearing down on him like a tiny dreadnought. Her relief at finally being allowed out of the base surrounded her in a near-tangible halo.

"According to the hacks, we've got Blood Pack heading toward Afterlife, Blue Suns in the markets down in the Yalsis District, and Eclipse at the docks, waiting for some novices to arrive. All groups of ten or more," she said. "Orders?"

Garrus considered. "Eclipse first," he said, as Weaver made a note on her omni-tool. "Take out the novices too. No sense in wasting the opportunity." Shepard nodded at his side. "Then, Blue Suns. There's a lot of dead-end alleys in Yalsis. Herd them with the drones and then block the entrance."

"And the Blood Pack?" asked Sensat.

"Wait till they're away from Afterlife. Aria will know what we're doing soon enough, but I don't think she'd look favorably on it happening on her doorstep." He raised his voice. "That goes for everyone. Whatever we do, keep it out of Afterlife."

"Right," said Sidonis. "Don't fuck with Aria."

The Shock Squad laughed. Garrus met each of their eyes, and gave them a nod. "All right, move out. Anything goes wrong, you come home. No risks - we made it through the first week, but the mercs are scared. And desperate." He felt Shepard's eyes on him as he echoed her. "Kill them and get out. Good hunting."

"Good hunting!" they replied. Weaver led them into the tunnels.

The kill count stood at eighty-four. The first week was almost over.

* * *

"So," said Shepard. She leaned against the wall of the shower, watching him. "I've been watching Sidonis."

"I noticed." Garrus hit the shower control with his elbow and hoped for hot water. What he got was a spray slightly warmer than his body temperature. He leaned his head back and waited for Shepard to keep talking. She'd stayed silent on the subject of Sidonis for a week, far longer than Garrus expected. If she had chosen to give in now, it meant she had her observations and wanted him to fill in the gaps.

"I get that turians are more casual about sex, at least until they're done with civil service."

"Someday," said Garrus, turning his head out of the spray, "you're going to tell me when you had time to do all this research while we were chasing down Saren."

Shepard ignored him. "Rank doesn't always have to be an obstacle. So is that what's going on here? Sidonis has a thing for you and -"

"No." Garrus turned to face her. "It might have been, once, but I never let him get far enough to know for sure."

Shepard frowned - not from jealousy, Garrus knew, but from _not knowing_. She hated being denied information the way most people hated insomnia. "When did that happen?"

"You were gone," said Garrus. "After the mechs."

"Ah." Shepard looked away. "So how did that play out?"

"He told me I was stressed. Before he said anything more, I cut him off. I wasn't exactly in the mood to be comforted."

"Is that typical? A subordinate just offering like that?"

"You know we're not a typical outfit, Shepard." Garrus scratched under his fringe with a talon. "It's not typical for a turian crew either, but I've seen it happen. Your superior officer starts to show stress, and one of the crew offers to help. Sparring, drinking, gambling, sex. They offer whatever they're comfortable going through with, and the officer chooses."

"So Sidonis could have been offering five-card stud for all you knew."

"Whatever that is, yes."

Shepard laughed. "Well, I guess I can stop being wildly jealous, now that I know it's just general hero worship." She cocked her head at him, looking every inch a woman who never needed to be jealous in her life. "Cultural education done for the day?"

"If you're finished."

"I am." She bent at the waist and skimmed the lids of the jars at her feet. Garrus felt a strange, quiet pleasure in her movements - not in just the rise and falls of bones under skin, but in the balance of grace and efficiency. She looked up at him through her hair as it fell over her face. Her hands lingered over the jars. "May I?" she asked.

So like Shepard to always leave him an out, even if they both knew now he would never take it. He nodded and turned his back to her, waiting for the cool touch of her hands, slick with oil, harsh with sand.

* * *

Garrus expected the Shock Squad back in eight hours. They arrived just after the six-hour mark, sweaty and weary, but satisfied. He met them in the mouth of the tunnel, finally giving in to his worry, needing to see for himself that they were safe. Shepard stayed at his side. For once, she kept her dad jokes to herself.

"Those were some surprised asari, boss," said Sensat as he unsealed his helmet.

"And batarians, and turians, and humans," sighed Grundan. He rolled his shoulder back, wincing, but pushed Erash back when the salarian tried to examine him. "Enough, Erash! I'm fine."

"Let him have a look," said Garrus. "You all need to be in peak condition. No exceptions." He stared at Grundan until the batarian stood still. Garrus turned to Weaver, who looked flushed and triumphant. "Report."

"It's lucky we caught Eclipse when we did," said Weaver. She fell into step at Garrus' side, her helmet slung under her arm. "Seven novices were on that shuttle, fresh from Ilium. We picked up some intel while we were getting into position. Red sand shipments that'll be coming through soon, nothing that'll get in our way." She ran her hand through her hair. "Are Mierin and Melanis still up?"

"Melanis is on watch, Mierin was awake before I came down. Why?"

"Heard something weird. The novices were talking about an Ardat-Yakshi. Never heard about it before, and I didn't have time to check the extranet. Thought they might know."

They started up the stairs, the rest of the Shock Squad falling in behind them.

"Anyways, the Blue Suns were buying replacement parts for a gunship, as well as a replacement mechanic - took care of those easy."

"No sign of Cathka?"

She shook her head. "No sign of Cathka. We'll get him. Oh!" She snapped her fingers and yelled over her shoulder. "Grun, who's that salarian with Eclipse? Amron?"

"Amirron."

"Right, thanks." She turned back to Garrus. Shepard peered around him, face intent.

"What about him?" asked Garrus. The door to the common room opened, the lights blinding after the gloom of the tunnels, and Monteague's welcoming yell echoed off every wall. Sidonis cheered from the stairs.

"Remember how he and his brother were shipping tainted eezo through Omega?" At Garrus' nod, Weaver grinned wolfishly. "We got Amirron. Sensat took him out."

Garrus grinned back. "Impressive. Good to know that little bastard's out of the picture. And Blood Pack?"

Erash spoke before Weaver could open her mouth. "Not really a stretch for us," he said. "We waited till they left Afterlife - well, got thrown out. Once they passed into the Jakartil District, Ripper and Sensat hit them with micro-grenades. They ran right into the corridor we'd laced with tripwires and delayed charges."

"Boom, boom, boom," said Ripper, then added "_boom_", for emphasis.

"Solid work," said Garrus. "What's the final count?"

"Forty-one," said Weaver.

Garrus blinked. "You're sure?"

"We counted the bodies," said Grundan. "Forty-one's the total."

Shepard hummed. "Garrus," she said, "at this rate..."

She didn't need to finish. At this rate, with this much luck, they were looking at less than a month before they were finished.

Garrus took a deep breath. "Update the count," he said, pitching his voice to carry through the whole base. "One hundred twenty-five dead."

The squad cheered, tired but proud, golden wings spreading wide as they lifted their arms.

* * *

On the second night Garrus spent hunched over his omni-tool, listening to Weaver's hacks, Shepard dropped into his lap and kissed him resoundingly, eyes bright when she pulled away.

"What - ah? Not that I'm not grateful, but what was that for?"

"To congratulate you. Two years on Omega." She kissed him again. "I'd say happy anniversary, but it'd be in poor taste."

"Two years?" he said blankly. With a flick of a finger, he turned off his omni-tool and leaned back, rearranging Shepard so she rested against his carapace. "I didn't think I'd lost track of time like that."

Shepard shrugged, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You've been busy. And it's not exactly two years since you got here, but since...I found you."

_Two years. _He hardly felt like the same turian who stumbled off a shuttle, bleary with grief.

_I'm not the same turian_, he thought, pulling Shepard closer. She came with a low hum in her throat, molding her body to his sharp angles. _Not even a little. _

If Shepard was thinking about how it was more than two years since she died over Alchera, she didn't say, and Garrus didn't either.

"We're going to need to revise the timeline," he said softly. "We're looking at two weeks at the most before the mercs won't have the numbers to deal with us."

"Unless they pool resources," said Shepard, muffled against his neck. "You've considered that, right?"

"I have. All comm traffic says the Blue Suns and Eclipse are still furious with Garm for his..._casual_ relationship with the truth. They're even angrier now that Archangel's not just alive but wiping them out." He closed his eyes. "It's possible, but unlikely. Years of fighting each other over the Districts would have to be put aside, and I don't see Garm convincing his krogan to side with turians or salarians. Even if it meant taking us down."

"Good reasoning," said Shepard. "But you need to be -"

"- vigilant," he finished. They shared a quiet laugh. The burned woman felt very far away. Any menace in her words couldn't travel the distance intact.

"I'll tell Weaver to monitor for anything that sounds like an alliance," said Garrus. "Can't be too careful."

Shepard nodded. "Almost there," she said, her voice relieved. "Then we're done."

Love pierced him through the center of his chest, hot and swift. The low ache in his gut - the one that was pure desire, and never went away - sharpened as Shepard shifted, her breasts pressing into his carapace as she moved.

"I've got two hours before watch," he murmured, close to her ear.

"You could sleep," said Shepard unconvincingly.

"I will," Garrus answered. "After."

Shepard flicked open the clasp of his tunic.

* * *

"Is it wrong to feel good?" he asked Shepard afterwards as she curled into him, her legs slung across his. "The plan is working. As long as we're careful - I think we can pull this off."

She nodded. Her hair tickled the soft hide inside his cowl when she moved. "Just stay careful," she said. "It's one thing to be proud of good work, but don't get -"

"Don't get cocky, I know." He rubbed his cheek on the top of her head. "We'll never get rid of every merc or smuggler, but we can make them think twice about coming here. Maybe give Omega a chance to be something more. That's all anyone can ask for." He stared into the dark, remembering. "It's what you gave me, in Dr. Michel's clinic. After you were done shouting at me."

Shepard laughed. "Yeah? What was it I gave you, Garrus? Other than a bunk on my ship and something to shoot at."

_A family. A mission. An adventure. _

"You gave me the chance to be more," he said. "More than a failed C-Sec officer or a disappointing son. I'm better with you around, Shepard."

Even in the dark, Garrus saw Shepard trying to smile and frown at the same time. "I love you," she said, quiet but fierce.

* * *

Patrolling was a dull business with the mercs dug deep in cover.

"This was a fucking waste of time," said Monteague. "Three hours of walking, and nothing to show for it. Give me some shit to shoot."

"Take two extra hours in the practice range, then," said Garrus, without sympathy.

He planned on spending the extra time in the practice range with his pistol. His hands were too used to the weight of his rifle; as much as he loved it, in close quarters it would only be good as a bludgeon. One that wasn't equipped to explode on impact. Time for the pistol.

_No sense in getting lazy_, he told himself. _Not even if we're close to the end. _

Decision made, he focused on Shepard as she ranged ahead of them, head bent and hands in her pockets. The nape of her neck glowed in the dim light, pale and vulnerable.

She felt him watching and gave him their private smile over her shoulder, then tipped him a wink. He ducked his head to the sound of her laughter, his neck flaring hot under his armor. Sidonis would have commented, if he'd been there, and he'd certainly be able to smell the sweet, grassy smell of Garrus' quiet happiness. But his partner was Monteague; the human's nose was weak, its owner inclined to silence. Garrus left him to his thoughts as they walked.

Sidonis met them at the front door, sober and quiet. The sour crackle of worry surrounded him. Garrus wrinkled his nose.

"Weaver's picking up something odd on the comm channels," Sidonis said, without preamble. "You need to hear this, boss."

"Mercs calling for back-up?" Garrus asked. They had plans for that, but if Weaver had missed the transmissions -

"No, not yet, but..." Sidonis shrugged helplessly. "It's weird. The stuff she's picking up is coming from off-station."

"Something we should be worried about?"

"We - we don't know, boss."

When Sidonis turned around, Monteague already following him, Garrus looked back at Shepard. She shook her head.

"No idea," she said.

Garrus swept his hand down her arm, and she gripped his fingers as they followed Sidonis.

The squad huddled around Weaver at her workbench. Some of them still held their guns, fresh from the practice range. The air smelled like spent thermal clips and sweat.

Weaver bent over her omni-tool, punching in a long string of numbers and muttering as she worked. "It's not a rogue VI," she said, to no one in particular. "I ran scans for malware embedded in the ship's operational suites, but nothing showed up."

"Drugs," said Grundan. "My money's on drugs."

Erash jumped in before Grundan could keep going. "What causes hallucinations for humans and turians? We haven't heard anything, unless Weaver missed something -"

"And I haven't," said Weaver sharply.

"- then drugs are out. Which doesn't leave much." Erash tapped his chin. "Can't be nerve agents either."

"What've we got?" said Garrus.

The squad looked up in unison, except for Weaver. She didn't glance up from her omni-tool, fingers flying over the display. "I've been going through the hacked transmissions Vortash recorded yesterday, and I found this. Came from a turian smuggling ship, the Chanteris, as they tried to dock." She keyed in another series of commands and leaned back in her chair. A beat of silence went by before the recording played.

"_- telling you, he was right there, by the elevator, just watching -"_

"_Aw, you're full of it, there's no one there."_

"_Spirits, someone was there! No markings, just black armor and - and white eyes!" _

"_White eyes." _

"_White! Just look, it's right there -"_

Weaver cut off the recording.

"That's not all," she said. "I thought it sounded weird, so I set up a program to monitor for similar phrases. Can't be too careful, right? I figured if it was some new drug we should know before it hits. An hour ago, I got this." She punched in another line of code and a new recording crackled through the air.

A human spoke, his words raw with jagged-glass panic.

"_I swear to God, Mike, I'm not crazy! I keep seeing this guy down by the shuttle dock. Big dude, scarred as hell, and his eyes - man, I'm telling you, his eyes are fucking white. Nothing in 'em, just white."_

The world lurched. The room, the squad, even the dust-motes in the air, shifted off-center for the space of a heartbeat, long enough for Garrus to sense a vast architecture behind the order imposed by the living.

Dark and seething, it stretched as far as he could see, the horrible geometries rising up until they disappeared. He smelled smoke and salt, and heard a low, warm susurrus as the shapes moved.

He felt no fear. Apprehension, yes, as the shapes formed and reformed endlessly, and a certain sanctified wonder - but no fear.

_What have we done, Shepard? _he wondered, briefly, before the world reasserted itself, and he pushed the thought away.

"Enough," said Garrus. Years of self-control let him hide any outward reaction as his heart pounded and his pulse thundered in his palms. Shepard pressed close to his side. His hands felt numb, useless clumps of flesh and bone at the end of his arms. "Enough, Weaver. That's all I need to hear."

Weaver cut the connection and watched him. The entire squad watched him. Garrus felt an obscure need to push Shepard behind him, away from their gazes, and shoved it away.

_It will move very quickly now_, said the burned woman.

"Keep recording the feeds from off-station," he said, careful to keep his voice steady. "It's not a priority now, but we'll need to know how wide-spread this is. I don't want to be surprised by an epidemic later. Nothing happening here on the station?"

"We tracked the vorcha. They settled down by the markets in the Gozu Districts, scavenging for their collections. Whatever that means. Vortash and I will keep an eye on it." Weaver started typing on her omni-tool. "I'll let you know if anything else comes up, boss."

"Let me know if any more of these...hallucinations show up, especially on the station. Two are interesting, three are a pattern. Till then, we focus on the mercs."

As Weaver turned back to her workbench, Garrus raised a hand to get the rest of the squad's attention. "This changes nothing," he said. "We've a plan, and we can't afford distractions." He felt the squad's nervous energy buffeting him like a heavy wind. Shepard's presence at his side balanced him, held him upright as the world tried to shift again.

"Shock Squad, be ready to move out at 1500. No changes there. Vortash, take over the hacks while Weaver's gone." His calm, measured words soothed the squad. The light shiver in the air faded as their control reasserted itself.

"As for the rest of you," he said, "I want you in the practice range. Secondary weapons only today. I need all of you sharp." He checked the time on his omni-tool. "It's 1200 hours now. I'll take the watch until 1800. Then Sidonis, then Melanis. Clear?" The squad nodded. "Good. Dismissed!" he said, with steel biting into the ends of his words.

They dispersed, focus returning to the job at hand, and he sighed quietly to himself. Shepard squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, and didn't let go when they walked to the bridge and the base's door slid shut behind them.

"Well, shit," said Shepard. She chewed her lip. "You saw it too?"

Garrus nodded.

"_The end is where we start from_," said Shepard. She chewed her lip again and faced him. "That was -"

"- home," he finished, barely audible. "For her. And you...you've been there before."

Shepard squeezed his hand. "Once was enough," she said, her eyes closing briefly. "Dammit. We have enough to worry about. Forget this, unless she shows up again."

Garrus shifted. The shapes moved on and on in his head, vast and patient. "Or more of them come."

Shepard stared into the distance. "Yeah, unless that."


	20. Chapter 20

Three days passed without word or sign of the white-eyed figures. The burned woman, if she still lingered, didn't make an appearance.

Three days brought the kill count to almost four hundred.

The mercs begged for help from off-station. The refusals came quickly. Garrus listened to the hacked transmissions, fists clenched tight, and let himself hope.

_We're almost there. Almost done._

He kept his focus on the present. The mysteries could wait until the work was done.

* * *

"We need a better name," said Erash, as the night's meeting broke up. He slouched down in the couch cushions. "We're not a Shock Squad when the mercs start screaming as soon as they hear the first explosion."

"We could be the Squad of Eternal Sadness," suggested Grundan, with a rare twist of sarcasm.

"No way," said Weaver. Her good mood only intensified the more she was outside the base. "We're the Shockers!" She folded her third fingers against her palms and brandished her hands at Grundan. Ripper and Monteague laughed; at Garrus' side, Shepard tried not to smile.

"If that's as crude as I think it is, no," said Garrus. Weaver pouted, and he ignored her with an ease built from long hours of practice. "Anything else to report?"

"Weaver caught part of a transmission from that new group of vorcha," said Sensat. "But they cut comms before we got a fix on where they were headed."

"Probably recruited for the Blood Pack," said Sidonis. He reached around Weaver to hand her and Grundan steaming coffee mugs. "Pulling resources from off-station. Smart move. Vorcha come cheap, and they die cheap too."

Sensat nodded. "That or they're going to try and make it as scavengers, and we can ignore them."

"Either way, I want them tracked." Garrus tapped his armrest with a talon. "The vorcha we found down by Mordin's clinic weren't Blood Pack, and we still don't know why they were headed there. Don't assume anything."

Weaver blew steam off her mug. "I'll keep scanning. Vortash can monitor the hacks while I'm gone and let you know if we pick them up again."

"Good." Garrus resisted the urge to grin at Shepard and looked up at the squad. He'd saved this for last. "I've got some news for all of you. Butler will be back tomorrow."

Mierin squealed and clapped a hand over her mouth while the rest of the squad laughed. Their relief broke over Garrus in a cool rush. He held up a hand for quiet, fighting a grin.

"Before there's a fight over who gets to come as an escort, it'll be me and -"

"Surprise," said Butler, as the doors to the tunnels opened. Garrus's timing was perfect.

Sidonis let out a roar and ran across the common room in two strides, slapping Butler on the back, the shoulders, the head, anything within reach. The rest of the squad followed, shouting hoarsely and hugging each other when they couldn't get to Butler.

Shepard cocked an eyebrow at him. "Never thought you could be theatrical, Garrus."

"Blame Butler," he murmured back, knowing none of the squad was paying him the least attention. "All his idea." His hand brushed Shepard's; she took it, weaving their fingers together close to his side. As they watched, Butler scooped up Weaver, one arm still around Sidonis' shoulders and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. Melanis laughed, until he dropped Weaver and gave her the same treatment.

"As charming as this is," Garrus shouted, "there's still work to be done!"

"So you'll not let us go radge, boss?" Butler's accent was double-thick, and the gleam in his eyes could only be tears. "I just got back." He looked years younger than the last time Garrus had seen him, red-cheeked and well-rested. Garrus said a silent thanks to Mordin; without the doctor, the mods would have left Butler useless or worse.

"Save the party till the work is done," said Garrus. "Kill Squads, we move out at 0830. Shock Squad, be ready to move at 1500. Butler, you're in the practice range with me tomorrow when I get back. I know you want to get back to work, but until I'm satisfied, you're home."

Garrus expected a token argument - it wouldn't be Butler if the man didn't push, just a little - but he just grinned and saluted.

"Aye, boss!"

Garrus nodded. His grin stretched his mandibles so wide his face ached. "Get some rest, everyone. We'll celebrate when it's over."

The squad moved as one up the stairs, laughing and shoving each other, the relief rolling off them in clear, sweet waves. Garrus watched them go, the obscure ache in his chest sharpening.

"I still can't believe you managed to keep it a secret from them," said Shepard. "You're a sly dog, boss."

"It's nice to have a surprise mean something good for a change. And thanks to Mordin, we're back to full strength."

"Too bad you couldn't recruit him."

"First you want Aria's ex-girlfriend, now another crazy salarian? I'll stick with who I've got, thanks. Too late for new members now, anyways." Shepard leaned into him.

"Things are moving so fast," he murmured absently.

"You think this is what she meant?" asked Shepard. "The end of the squad?"

"I don't know, Shepard." He rubbed his neck. "We haven't seen her in weeks. Maybe she's gone. Maybe she's on some ship, haunting someone else."

Shepard hummed, eyes fixed on the squad's room. Garrus knew better than to think she believed it any more than he did.

* * *

Faint music woke Garrus, a bell-voiced asari singing about a lover lost on the sea.

"Shepard?" His voice, sleep-rough, sounded very small in the dark room.

"I'm here," she said.

Shepard stood at the window, staring through the half-open slats in the metal curtain. The distant, blue light from the stairs bathed her face and chest, her arms folded just below her breasts, the slight concave curve of her belly. Her freckles stood out, faint constellations on her skin. He'd been surprised to find out they covered her entire body: hips, thighs, shoulders, feet.

No living being ever stood so still, not breathing, not blinking. An inward, clockwise shudder ran through him. It was so easy to forget, after two years of watching Shepard laugh and near-cry, of holding her and seeing her move, that she was dead. She tried to be as alive as possible for him, and what she couldn't hide she used as a tool to help him.

She wasn't hiding anything now. This was her truth. His heart clenched, remembering the woman who could never stop moving, who breathed and sang and fought.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Grapes," she said. "They were the last thing I ate before the Normandy was hit. They were freezer burned, no flavor at all. Liara told me they looked like something she'd find in a tomb on one of her digs, but I ate them all. I'd been craving them for months." She lifted her head into a bar of light. "I'd kill for grapes right now."

"What brought this on?"

"I don't really know," she said, and shrugged. "I just thought about what it was like. Being hungry. I can remember it, but I can't feel it."

Garrus stayed quiet. He knew the cadences of her voice, and she wasn't finished.

"I thought that I'd forget what it was like to be alive after a while, but it's still perfectly clear. Never thought having a good memory would be a curse. I remember being cold. Sweating after a run. The exact weight of my gun in my hand. Waking up. Having a sore throat. And grapes." She laughed, the sound balanced between resignation and regret. "All of it."

Garrus swung out of bed and padded over to her. He touched her slowly, _scapula_ and _coxae_ and _clavicle_.

"I've got you," he said. His throat closed before he could say anything else, and his hands tightened on her bare shoulders, talons pricking at her skin.

Shepard traced the line of his mandibles. "I've got you," she said.

Neither of them spoke until the song changed. A human girl's voice filled the air, thin and sweet and naive. Shepard tilted her head, a smile slipping over her mouth.

"My mom used to sing me this song," she said. "She loved the original version, the one from the twentieth century. Been years since I heard this version, though. It's nice. This singer was just a kid when she recorded it. God. So strange to think this version came out twelve years ago."

Garrus linked his hand with hers and pulled her to the bed. "What are these lyrics? 'Time makes you bolder, even children get older'? It's a horrible song for a child to sing." She followed him slowly, letting their joined arms stretch out to their full length before she climbed up behind him. He pulled her leg over his waist and eased her down, his hands sliding up to play against her ribs.

"It's a horrible love song too, Garrus. But most of them are." She kissed him, lingering at the corners of his mouth. "They don't tell you that there are no happy endings. Every love story turns into a tragedy. Someone always leaves, or dies, or doesn't get to love the one they should."

"You don't mean that." He let his forehead rest on hers. "We're not a tragedy."

Shepard laughed. "We started as one, Garrus. I'm dead, remember?"

"Other than the Reapers, then there's no way it can get worse." He kissed her this time and she pressed into it, whispering his name.

* * *

Garrus woke up gasping. The bed next to him was empty, the covers still wrinkled in the shape of Shepard's body.

"Lights," he said, wincing when they came on, too bright and cold. His terminal hissed static until he stumbled out of bed and shut it off. The room was just as empty as the bed.

"Shepard?" He kept his voice low, wary as ever of the squad overhearing. "Shepard, you there?"

No answer.

"You better not have wandered off," he said. "We agreed." He stooped and picked up his tunic and trousers. When he was dressed, he peered into the shower and behind his bookcase. No Shepard.

"Shepard," he growled, "this isn't funny. If you can hear me -"

Garrus stopped. A new sound, huge in the gathered stillness of the room, plucked at his hearing. Someone was crying nearby. Dry, gasping sobs. The noise twisted in the air.

"Shepard?" He smelled the first traces of worry rolling off his hide and tried to ignore them. "Shepard, is that you?" He couldn't believe Shepard could make such a sound, a sound that went on as he went into the hall. It hung like smoke in the air.

"Shepard, answer me."

The crying came from off the common room, in the hallway that led into the tunnels.

_Don't be Shepard. Don't be Shepard. I can't handle it if she's making that noise._

Two steps would take him into the hallway. He couldn't see, couldn't bear to see. Stale, stark dread mixed with worry. His own scent made him sick.

"Shepard," he called again. Her name corkscrewed out of his mouth. No one, nothing, should sound so wrong when they cried.

"Shepard." Now he was begging. The sobs kept going, jagged runnels of noise that made his gut churn. "Shepard, please, answer me."

The sobs paused for a instant, long enough for Garrus to relax before they spun out again, wracked and hopeless.

He turned the corner.

The burned woman knelt by the door, her face turned toward the wall. She cradled her hands against her chest.

"Couldn't," she gasped. "Couldn't."

Garrus reeled back. "You," he rasped. His voice was as sour as his scent. "Spirits, what have you done? Where's -"

"Couldn't stop it," the burned woman whispered. She pressed her face into the wall. "I tried. I tried and this, this..." Her hands twitched and his eyes followed the movement helplessly. The skin over her fingers was cracked and blistered, raw fever-red at the joints.

"Hurts," said the burned woman, and sobbed again. "No time and I tried. Tried so hard, all broken inside. Couldn't stop it."

"Shut up," Garrus hissed. He tried to take a breath but his throat squeezed pinhole-tight. "Shut up, you freak."

The burned woman twisted her neck, white eyes fixing on his face. She seemed to be taking back control of herself. "_Your_ freak," she said. "I am your freak, my Vakarian. All of yours." Sobs wrenched her body, twisted it into broken angles, but her voice was steady. "I tried to warn you."

"Warn me? Warn me of what?" His voice stayed barely above a whisper, drowned by the wail building inside his head.

She shoved herself to her feet, head weaving from side to side. "I'm sorry," she said. "I did my best. But you know we can't interfere." She held up her hands. "You see what happens when we do."

"Where is Shepard?"

"You know where. Over the hills and far away," said the burned woman. She stumbled toward him, blindly groping for his hands. "I'll remember," she told him. "I promise. It will help."

Garrus tried to move away, but her hands gripped his wrists, steel-strong. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry. Be brave." Her mouth peeled itself open and he saw the dark hollow tunnel of her throat. "Be b-"

Her words cut off, blasted away by an agonized scream that clawed its way out of her chest. Garrus jolted as pain crashed into his nerves, shuddering up his arms and into his spine. It poured out of the burned woman, into the vessel of his skull, raging and full of fire -

He shut his eyes as he staggered, a black seething wave of nausea dragging him down.

When he opened them, the hallway was empty.

* * *

Garrus gripped his head with both hands.

_Stay focused. Stay sharp. Remember to breathe. _

Garrus forced himself to move.

By degrees, with muscles dry and aching, he straightened his back and lowered his arms.

_Breathe_.

He threw his head back to force open his throat, and sucked in a great lungful of air. Clarity pierced the fog trying to wrap itself around his brain, a sudden starburst that stung his eyes, but he could move again.

_I will not go back to where I was. I am Archangel. _

Shepard never called him _Archangel_.

A thin thread of noise, stretched and fraying, slipped out of his mouth. The sick gut-wrench of fear sat heavily inside him. She promised. She had promised to come back.

He nearly called her name, in a perfect rush of despair, and stopped himself just in time.

"I'll wait," he said, when his voice was under control again. "I'll wait. Five days. I've done it before. I won't worry until then. Five days, and then I'll - I'll -"

There was nothing to say.

"Five days," he said. "Five days, Shepard."

* * *

Time fought Garrus for every second; he clawed seconds of clarity away from panic's steady beckoning, cobbled them into minutes and hours of productivity. He divided his day into sections: three hours on patrol with Monteague, two hours in the practice range, two hours listening to the hacked transmissions.

That still left almost eight hours before the nightly meeting, when the squad gathered close, sharing food and the stories of the day.

He considered sleep or a shower, but that meant time alone in a room gone cold and still. And time alone -

His hands clenched as a long stutter of gunfire filtered up from the practice range. Without any input from his brain, his body lifted him out of his chair and carried him on stiff legs toward the noise.

"Get ripped!" yelled Mierin, and fired three shots at the practice targets.

"No, it's more like this. _Get rrrrrrrrrrripped!_" Vortash rolled the r, and Mierin collapsed laughing, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes.

"Oh Goddess, you sound just like him. Do it again!"

"_Get rrrrrrrrrrripped!_"

Mierin flopped belly-first out of her crouch, giggling helplessly. "Can't - breathe -" she gasped, holding her stomach. Vortash sucked in a deep breath.

"Get rr- oh, boss!"

"Vortash," he said, a faint smile flexing his mandibles. "Mierin. Enjoying yourselves?"

"Too much," wheezed Mierin. "We were having a contest but then we started -"

"Mocking your squadmates," Garrus suggested, his smile feeling more genuine with every word, less like a mask.

"We're impersonating people we know," said Vortash. "Anyways, we're seeing who's better with the Mantis." He squinted at Garrus, grey teeth flashing in a guileless grin. Garrus folded his arms; that smile, guileless or no, was the first sign of Vortash's hustle.

"You want in, boss?" The batarian's smile sharpened. "Seventy-five credits says we can take you."

"Two against one, Vortash?"

"What can I say? I like those odds. You in?"

From the floor, Mierin flashed a bright, too-sweet smile. "Come on, boss," she wheedled, the same way she tried to whine him into getting a lapdance. "It'll be fun."

The knotted fear in his stomach loosened. The squad couldn't erase the dry, ripping sobs of the burned woman, or the awful chill of his empty bed, but their voices - bright, clear voices, as dear to him as air or water - smoothed the raw edges.

"One hundred credits," said Garrus. "And we use the Mantis."

Mierin cackled and rolled onto her knees. "You first, boss," she said, waving at the rifle expansively. "Show us how it's done."

"Scoped and dropped!" yelled Vortash. Garrus ignored him, and crouched down, feeling the weight of the rifle in his hands.

The memory of Shepard stealing kisses between shots surfaced: dizzy, seductive, riding at the crest of a wave of longing.

_Four more days_.

He closed his eyes, counted his heartbeats until the wave passed through him.

"Boss?" Mierin shifted. "Boss? Whenever you're ready."

Garrus opened his eyes. Shepard wasn't there.

His finger squeezed the trigger.

* * *

The first and second days passed the same way, forced into order by the sheer strength of his will.

Garrus dreamed of Shepard, her cool hands cradling his face, but when she tried to speak, nothing came out but a weak, high note, like the winter winds over the mountains at home.

* * *

The third day fought him with teeth and claws, every bloodless, stricken second of it.

Garrus' hands started shaking after ten hours. He kept them tight around his rifle, until the joints ached and swelled.

"You're fucking quiet," said Monteague. "It's weird as hell. Something bothering you, boss?"

"Nothing more than usual," Garrus lied, bitterly aware of the irony. "Just thinking ahead." He was doing everything in his power to keep from thinking ahead. "Let's check Yalsis District. Weaver said the hacks picked up Eclipse trying to buy supplies from the market there."

"Right-o." Monteague's imitation of Butler's accent was flawless. "Lead on, MacDuff."

"Lay on," Garrus corrected automatically. Monteague laughed, the sound made tinny by the comms.

"Oh, now you're a Shakespeare buff? Excuse me for fuckin' living."

Garrus looked up, searching for Shepard's sly, pleased grin. Its absence left him breathless. He squeezed his rifle until the pain in his hands turned steel-sharp and briefly overrode the weary ache in his chest.

"Weaver," he said, voice tight.

"I'm here, boss," she replied at once. "Need me?"

"Got anything more on the Eclipse in Yalsis?"

"Nothing new since they moved to the warehouse, sorry. They haven't left, if that's what you're asking."

"What's the size of the group?"

"Um." He heard Weaver clicking her teeth. "We're looking at seven, maybe ten, tops." She paused. "Biggest group you've seen in a while, guys. Want me to get the Shock Squad together?"

"Not this time." Garrus felt his focus narrowing, the bright elusive clarity of a plan forming. "Where are Vortash and Sidonis?"

"I've got them over in Jakartil District, boss. Mierin and Melanis are closer."

"Send them our coordinates." Garrus glanced at Monteague, who cocked his head, his confusion evident even through his helmet.

"Isn't this something the Shock Squad should take care of, boss? Ten's a lot to take on at a distance, even if the sisters come along."

"The mercs are here," said Garrus. "If we wait until the Shock Squad gets here, we'll lose them." He tightened his hands again, willing himself to focus.

_Is this the best way, Garrus?_ asked Shepard in his mind. _Is it?_

_You're not here, Shepard. You don't get to ask those questions._

Here or not, she was right. Garrus considered.

"Tell Sidonis and Vortash to meet us at the warehouses," Garrus told Weaver. "They'll miss the party, but they can keep our exit clear."

"Got it," said Weaver. "Sending them your coordinates now. Melanis and Monteague have the new combat drones keyed to their omni-tools, by the way."

"Good work, Weaver. We'll need them. If the mercs move, we need to know."

"You'll know as soon as I do. Good hunting."

* * *

Seven to ten Eclipse turned out to be seven, and two of them were barely out of the novice stage. The fear of Archangel showed clear on their faces, beneath serene asari composure.

From his position, hidden behind the half-open door. Garrus tracked heart rates, breathing, shield strength.

"Drones, on my mark," he murmured. At the corner of his vision, tucked behind the doorjamb, Melanis's hand flew over her omni-tool. "_Mark_."

The drones, blue-white and crackling cheerfully, flashed into the anteroom. The closest Eclipse vanguard shrieked and fired, the shot going wide to hit the wall.

"Archangel! Goddess, Archangel's here!" Her second shot hit the drone dead-center. It exploded in a concussive burst, knocking two Eclipse to the floor, sparks blistering the air as their shields overloaded and crashed the wearers' nervous systems. The rest of the mercs reeled helplessly against the walls of the anteroom, trying to scramble behind crates. Two more were caught in Mierin's Singularity and floated to the ceiling, limbs waving limply.

Garrus rose from his crouch. One of the Eclipse engineers stood in the center of the room, assault rifle hanging uselessly at his side. One arm half-raised to ward him off.

"Archangel," gasped the man. "You -"

Garrus didn't give him time to finish. He crossed the room, switching out his Mantis for his Vindicator, and shot the merc in the stomach three times. Red drops misted the air between them as the merc fell, gurgling as blood filled his throat.

Melanis' Reave slammed into the mercs still snared by the Singularity, her barrier replenishing itself as the mercs wailed and spasmed. Monteague took out two mercs with headshots from his position at the door, slamming in a fresh clip and sighting behind him as soon as the mercs dropped.

Only one left. She tried to crawl away on her elbows, her legs deadened. Garrus heard her swearing. She rolled over long enough to try and bring up her pistol, her shots pinging against his shields.

At that range, he couldn't miss. He made it quick; one shot to the head. Her helmet's visor shattered, leaving her face bare and stricken in the blood-hot air, a ragged, ash-black hole where her right eye used to be.

He swept the room with a gaze, hands tight. Clarity faded.

_Top scores, Garrus_, said Shepard's dry voice. He willed it away.

"We're done here," he said to the squad.

* * *

Garrus kept his hands clenched around his rifle as he and Monteague split off from the others to make their way back to the base. When sick worry rose in his chest, he squeezed until his knuckles sang a protest, and the worry dropped away.

_Three days - two and a half, now. _

"Something is bothering you," said Monteague. "You've usually got more to say after an op, boss. Even if it's just yelling about sloppy form." He cleared his throat. "Just saying."

"I'm ready for it to be over," said Garrus evenly. "And I'm tired. But if it would make you feel better, Monteague, your form was sloppy."

The human threw back his head, laughing. "Well, I'm fucking reassured. Thanks." He shifted his rifle and threw Garrus a look. "Better?"

"Marginally," Garrus replied. "I might make a soldier out of you if I had twenty years."

The banter formed in his mouth and left it without any effort. Somewhere, it seemed, he had a reserve of funny things to say, quips that fit just so into the patterns of squad conversations.

_They deserve better than this, Garrus,_ said the dry, unimpressed voice. _Get your head back in it._

_You're not here. You don't get to give me advice. _

The voice was right. As always.

"- back to Earth, the old homestead, you know?" Monteague's voice, with its slow sloping vowels, filtered through the comms. "Ripper's never seen it. He was born on Elysium. He hasn't even been to the Sol System. So we'll go there first. He needs to meet my parents."

"Then what?" said Garrus. "He might be content to sit still, but not you."

"After all this? I've had enough running around for the rest of my life. We've got enough for a farm down in South America, if we're careful. We'll raise sheep and pigs and get drunk off our asses every night." Monteague smacked his lips. The wet sound made Garrus cringe. "Pure heaven."

"Heaven," echoed Garrus. A new ache - old, really, but new to today - rose in his chest. The squad's plans were already laid out, waiting his word to release them. He swallowed and tightened his hands on his rifle.

_Two and a half days._

"Hope you've got property in mind, Monteague. You don't have a lot of time to plan."

"Oh, I do," said Monteague. "Ripper'll fucking love it."

"I'm sure," said Garrus.

Well done, said the dry voice. He ignored it, and kept walking. His hands ached.

So passed the third day.

* * *

On the third night, Garrus fell asleep at his desk, waking with a strangled yell when his elbow tipped a pile of datapads to the floor.

"Wh - She -" He froze, biting his tongue. No one was there. The datapads clattered against each other. No other sound filled the room.

_Why_, he thought, _why did you go, why did you leave? _

The panic he'd held at bay shoved hard against the wall of his control, eager and hissing. He was too tired, too startled to resist. Sly coils darted through the notches in his spine, sharp as needles.

"Shepard," he groaned, half a sob. "Don't do this. We're almost done." He covered his mouth with both hands, forcing the rest of the words down. He was Garrus Vakarian. He would not beg.

The _please_ stayed trapped inside his mouth.

_Two days. Two more days. _

Garrus got up, back aching, and threw himself face-down on the bed. He rolled over a moment later as his carapace protested, and lay on his side, clenching his fists to the beat of his pulse.

When he slept, he dreamed of the sea.


	21. Chapter 21

The fourth day began with his watch at the foot of the bridge. Only the air moved, stirred to a faint and clammy breeze by the giant, sluggish wall fans. It smelled sour and forgotten.

At 0600, Sensat slid through the front door and padded out.

"Quiet night, boss?"

"Wh - ah, yes." Garrus shook his head. He had spent the past four hours counting the revolutions of the fans. His neck ached. "Time for the morning meeting?"

Sensat nodded. "Sidonis wants to know if you want any of the haflet he's making."

"For breakfast?" Clouded as he felt, Garrus winced at the idea of the over-spiced meat. "Is he trying to kill me?"

"He said you'd say that. And he said to say 'no more than usual.' So, that's a no?"

"Yes, that's definitely a no." Garrus switched his rifle to the crook of his arm and stretched his fingers, wincing at his stinging knuckles. He nodded at the still-open door. "I'll stick with ration bars and tea, if we have any of the dextro version left."

"Boxes upon boxes," said Sensat. "Melanis already made yours."

Garrus' voice strangled itself in his throat. "I'll have to thank her," he ground out, so grateful for the small affection he could barely speak.

* * *

Weaver waited to start talking until Garrus sat down, the mug of tea steaming between his chilled hands, but just barely.

"We've got another one, boss, an asari ship this time." She lifted her arm, omni-tool already glowing. "Want to hear it?"

"Just give me the condensed version," he said around an aborted sip. His mug was cut for a human or asari mouth, and the tea threatened to spill down his chin. Melanis gave him a wide-eyed look, mouthing an apology he waved away. The hot liquid coursed over this tongue and burned a line down his throat.

"Another bunch of do-gooders from Thessia, a bunch of priestesses from the Order of Bountiful Mercy or something -"

"Plentiful Mercy," said Mierin, around a mouthful of toast and jam.

"Right. They tried to dock but took off in a hurry. Two of the priestesses went to the matron in charge, freaking out about an asari they had never seen before. Said she was in their rooms, just watching them. She disappeared as soon as they noticed her."

"White eyes?" asked Garrus. His hands didn't shake as he put his mug down on the table.

"White eyes." Weaver glanced at her omni-tool. "And she was wearing green. That was the only other thing they mentioned, in between the sobbing and the freaking out."

"Green's the color of their order," said Melanis. She leaned forward, chin balanced on her fist. "This is going to sound weird, but..."

"We're talking about people being on ships who shouldn't be there," said Erash. "I'd say 'weird' needs to be redefined."

"Thank you for that, Erash," said Garrus, as the squad broke up into nervous laughter. "Go on, Melanis."

The asari chewed the inside of her cheek. "Nevermind," she said, after a pause. "It's stupid."

"No one's going to laugh," he told her, and the last chuckles faded away. Melanis' lips twisted uncertainly, her eyes fixed just over Garrus' shoulder, then she nodded.

"Humans have ghost stories -"

That was as far as Melanis got; Weaver snorted and folded her arms over her chest. Garrus sent her a glare, mandibles tight, and the girl flushed and looked at her feet.

"Melanis," he said.

"It's stupid," said Melanis, sending a glare of her own at Weaver. "I know it is, but it sounds like a ghost story to me. Maybe it's just a hallucination. Goddess, it could be anything - the only thing we've ruled out is drugs. The ships don't have anything in common, and they're coming from too far away to have been hit with the same chemicals. It's totally random. And eerie," she finished, voice soft.

"Amen to that," said Butler.

"It's not totally random." Weaver had a musing look, eyes squinted at her omni-tool.

"Weaver?"

At the sound of Garrus' voice, she looked up, and flushed again when she saw the entire squad looking at her. "They're all old ships," she said. "The turian ship, the _Chanteris_, is two hundred years old, and the Order's ship is twice that. Even the human ship predates Shanxi. And their crews have been together for a long time. Twenty years or more."

"And that means what?" said Grundan. "Lots of old ships in the Terminus Systems, Weaver. Lots of tight crews."

"It shows up a lot in ghost stories," said Ripper. "The older a place is, the more ghosts it collects."

"Are we seriously considering this?" said Sensat. "Ghosts? I admire humanity's boundless creativity, but this isn't a vid. This is life, actual real life."

"We live in a universe where there are _sentient fucking jellyfish_," snapped Monteague. "But life after death is too far out to consider?"

"Enough!" Garrus's voice whipped through the building tension, harsher than he intended. _I'm taking this personally. Spirits, Shepard, where are you? What have we done? _

Panic hissed and chattered just underneath his control. He breathed deeply, smelling sweat, bread, and no small amount of fear.

Shepard wasn't there.

"This conversation is over." Sensat and Monteague opened their mouths, but Garrus slashed his hand through the air and they stayed silent, glaring at him. He didn't care. Better that they were angry at him than each other.

"Weaver," he said, steel lacing his subvocals, "if you hear any more reports of - _visitors _- you bring them directly to me. No one else hears about it. Understood?"

"Understood, boss," she said.

Garrus waited until she met his eyes before nodding. "Is there anything else to report?"

"Those vorcha we've been tracking have buddied up with a couple krogan loners, down by the environmental plant. Some of them are calling themselves the Boom Squad. Got a good bit of heavy weaponry - nothing reliable, but there's a lot of them."

"Quantity over quality," said Ripper. "Typical vorcha."

"Shock Squad, uproot them," said Garrus. "I don't want them getting settled down by those systems. Keep your distance; drones to start, then flush them out with incendiary charges."

Weaver made a note on her omni-tool. "Got it. We can take care of it to - what the hell?" Her omni-tool beeped three times, one section flashing a deep blood orange. "Uh, got something new," she said. "Blue Suns are barricading their own troops in rooms down by the Gozu District."

"Skimming off protection money," said Ripper, with a sage nod. Garrus didn't see any reason to doubt him, but Weaver shook her head.

"It's not a punishment," she said, brows puckering as she read her screen. "It's about...protection?"

"Protection." Garrus waited for Weaver to finish reading the transcript.

"Yeah," she said a moment later. "Protection. They're saying the guys are sick and they don't want it to spread."

"Brutal but efficient," said Erash. "Minimize the chance of infection. Did they mention any symptoms?"

"A cough, and a catastrophic fever. Then swollen joints, breathing difficulties...Jesus." Weaver shuddered, typing so quickly her fingers were a blur. "It came on in a few minutes, though, that's the weird thing. The first guys to get locked up were patrolling last night and by the time they got back to base, they were a mess."

Garrus' hands clenched. "Where were they patrolling, Weaver?"

"Uh, one sec." She typed, then paused, lower lip caught in her teeth. "Down by the environmental plant," she said.

"And how many are sick now?" asked Garrus, hands tightening.

"Fifteen," she said immediately, still reading her omni-tool. "Not all Blue Suns, though. A couple batarians who run a bar down there are sick too. They got sealed in a back room. Fifteen people in seven hours." She was pale.

The squad was silent.

"Well, fuck," said Butler.

Garrus allowed himself a moment of silence, weighing his options.

_The best way through, not the fastest._

He straightened in his chair. The squad mimicked his movement.

Weaver's omni-tool beeped in the silence. "Twenty-one infected," she said, after a glance. Garrus forced his hands to relax. A disease that could infect almost twenty people in a night deserved all of Archangel's focus.

"First priority is taking out the vorcha and krogan by the environmental plant," he said. "All other ops are suspended until they're gone. Sidonis, Grundan, you're on home watch. I want everyone else prepped and ready to move by 0800." He paused as an idea blossomed in his head. "This time, we'll check the bodies when you're done."

"For samples of the disease," murmured Erash.

"I think our friend Mordin will be interested," Garrus said with a nod. "Don't you?"

* * *

"Pyros!" shrieked Weaver from her perch on the balcony. "Erash, Butler, on your nine!" Her combat drone sang over the roar of the flames, slicing between two of the vorcha pyros. One of the vorcha turned to blast the drone with a stream of white-yellow fire, but the drone shattered at the first touch of the flames. Both vorcha collapsed, faces pierced by sliver-thin shrapnel.

Melanis snapped another vorcha's neck with a single blow from a blue-haloed fist, but when she turned to slide behind cover, the stray flames from the second pyro's tank snatched at her back. Garrus heard her howl from thirty yards away.

"It's always me!" she screamed over the comms. "First my stomach, now my back. Boss, I fucking quit!"

"Stay down!" Erash bellowed. "I'm coming to you, Mel."

"Mierin!" roared Garrus.

"On it! Keep your heads down! Warp deployed!" The dark spear surged ahead of Erash, clearing a path through the vorcha. The salarian slammed past and leapt into cover with Melanis.

"Erash?" yelled Garrus, sighting down on a krogan gearing up to charge. "Erash, talk to me."

"She's stable, but she's out of the fight, boss."

"Keep her safe. Butler, krogan incoming!"

Butler's only answer was a bellow as he charged, head down between his shoulders, legs pumping, but before he collided with the krogan, he pivoted on the ball of his foot and slammed into the krogan from the side, omni-blade gleaming as he buried it in the krogan's neck. With a wrench of his arm, he slashed open the krogan's throat, then drove his omni-blade up into the softer hide beneath the krogan's jaw. Butler twisted his wrist, forcing the blade back into the soft tissue inside the krogan's skull.

_No way to regenerate from that_, said Shepard, low and intense in Garrus' head. Her voice, even in memory, made his neck flush.

_Stop it, not now, _he told her, without conviction.

Butler tried to stand, but he slipped in the blood spilled around the krogan's body and fell to his knees.

"Fuckin' mess," he growled, and heaved himself to his feet.

Garrus saw a vorcha pyro whirl around a pillar and loose a stream of flame aimed at Butler's retreating back. His flush faded from his neck, his voice froze in his throat.

"Butler - your six!"

Butler threw himself down a half-second too late. The hungry flames licked at his side from knee to shoulder, eating at Butler's shields and then his armor.

"Fuck!" he bellowed, his SMG already chattering. The vorcha shrieked and collapsed, smothering the flames even as they burned it alive, but Butler fell to his knees, swearing.

"Butler?" Garrus yelled.

"I'm fine!" Butler answered. He stood a moment later, hissing. "Got through my goddamned armor, little shit-eater. I fuckin' hate pyros."

"Weaver, report!"

"I'm reading two pyros and a rocket trooper on your left flank, but there's a group approaching on the right and a krogan closing - krogan charging, Sensat!"

The cool purity of the battle-spell swallowed the squad. Garrus felt it move through them, rage at two of their own being hurt transmuting into icy fury, and let himself relax. Anger used them; this fury was their tool.

Weaver yelled from the balcony, Mierin shouting at her to get down. Her Mantis clattered over the vorchas' snarls, but Garrus heard when the gunfire switched to the hoarse cough of a Carnifex.

"Support!" shouted Mierin. "Anyone read me? We've got two pyros closing! We need support!"

"On it! Stay in cover! I'm using the boiler!" Garrus shouted, and swung over a low crate, racing for the stairs.

So many enemies. Garrus ran, rounds ricocheting off the floor just behind his feet, and took the stairs three to a stride. He dug into his ammo pouch, fist closing around the boiler.

"Incoming! Get down!" he shouted, and hit the trigger. The sphere arced out of his hand, a wicked silver glint in the smoky air, just in time for him to hear Weaver yell again.

"Mierin! Put your helmet back on!"

Garrus' gut knotted. His hand twitched, like it could snatch the boiler back before it struck home.

"It's on fire, I can't -"

The sphere exploded, moisture flash-boiling, and twin booms followed as the pyros' tanks ruptured.

Flames surged toward the ceiling, Mierin shrieking behind them.

* * *

For the first time, the squad left a fight before it was finished. The vorcha and krogans' roots were damaged, but not destroyed.

Garrus didn't care. Mierin and Melanis had to be carried back to the base, with Erash re-applying medi-gel to Mierin's face and neck every fifteen minutes. Everyone walked close together, discovering new injuries, silent and watchful.

Most of the golden wings had been burned away.

"This is a fuckin' turn-up," Butler sighed, leaning heavily on Garrus' shoulder. No one said anything else.

The muscles under Garrus' carapace ached. Compared to the rest of the squad, he'd gotten off with few injuries, but the guilt - that was worse than the burns and pulled muscles.

_You can't plan on everything_, said Shepard's voice, gentle and sad. _You did the best with the information you had. And sometimes...sometimes the timing is bad. _

_If I hadn't -_

_Then Mierin and Weaver might be dead, instead of injured. You did the best you could._

_Where are you, Shepard?_

She didn't answer, not even inside his head.

* * *

Mierin woke up hours later, when her skin started to peel.

"Oh Goddess," she moaned, half-raising her hand to touch her face. Garrus caught her wrist and squeezed her hand. She rolled her head on the pillow and sighed, eyes focusing slowly. "Hey, boss."

"Hey, Mierin."

"Is it bad?" She gestured at her face with her free hand. One eye was half-closed from swelling, but the worst of the raw purple at the center of the burns was gone.

Garrus shook his head. "It's not great, but you were lucky. Erash and Monteague say you need to rest for a day or two and then you'll be good as new. Better, maybe."

"Better than I was? Hard to believe."

He laughed and squeezed her hand again. Mierin closed her eyes, and he thought she had fallen asleep. He laid her hand on her mattress and stood up, but she grabbed for his hand.

"Boss, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -"

"No," he said, stern enough to make her wince. "We're both at fault. Let's call it even, and no more guilt. All right?"

"All right," she whispered, a tear slipping from the corner of one eye. "Can you send in Melanis, boss?"

"Definitely." He left, weary beyond telling, and nodded at Melanis. The asari hovered in the door, ready to dart toward her sister as soon as Garrus left. He bent his head to whisper to her.

"She'll be fine, Mel."

"Of course she will be," said Melanis. She held herself stiffly. The bandages covering her back poked out of the collar of her shirt. "We're tough. Got it from Dad." She slipped past him into the squad's room.

The rest of the squad rested in the common room, sharing blankets and packets of painkillers.

"Melanis has the right idea," said Butler. "I quit too."

"Me three," said Ripper. Weaver poked her hand out of her cocoon of blankets and gave a weak thumb's-up.

"I'll accept your resignations when you're not all high on painkillers and medi-gel." Garrus glanced at his chair, and decided against sitting down. Despite what he'd said to Melanis, guilt coursed through him in an uneasy river. Refusing himself small comforts seemed like an appropriate, if inadequate, punishment.

"Today was a prime example of two mistakes compounding each other," he began.

Vortash groaned. "We don't blame you, boss."

_You should_, Garrus thought. _You should blame me, I nearly got Mierin killed. _

"We know the rules," said Weaver from inside her blankets. "Helmets at all times, warn ahead of time if you need to take off armor, always assume the worst when someone tells you to get down." She turned on her side. "It sucked ass, but we're alive."

A slow murmur of agreement followed her words. Garrus wasn't convinced, but he let them rest. Time for lectures later.

* * *

Garrus' guilt smelled like bitter smoke.

So passed the fourth day and night.

* * *

Garrus woke up slowly on the fifth day, his body begging him for a few more hours of rest. When he stretched, his shoulders creaked and ached from supporting Butler. A few burns dotted his hide, where his shields and armor hadn't protected him completely, but their faint stings barely registered.

He rolled to his other side, eyes still closed, and reached out to pull Shepard into the curve of his arm. His fingers touched nothing but cool air and empty sheets.

"No," Garrus whispered. "It's been five days." He opened his eyes to the dim, sterile outlines of his room.

"Shepard." His voice carried no farther than the bed, weak and lost. "Shepard, where - where are you?" He tried to shut his eyes against the memories crowding in his skull; her nimble fingers, her sly grins, the velvety skin under her ear.

How easy to believe he had imagined it all.

The waiting fissure shuddered and broke open. He moaned into his hands, curling around his grief in a bed gone cold and empty.

What if it had all been a dream?

_No, no. Two years. I didn't dream those. I'm not crazy. She was here._

But how could he believe that, when even her voice in his head had gone silent?

* * *

"Boss?"

Garrus stared at Erash. He could barely focus on the salarian; his gaze kept wandering to the shadowy corners of the common room.

"We're running low on medi-gel," said Erash. He twisted his hands and wouldn't meet Garrus' eyes.

Garrus blinked. The words took a long time to make sense, and fell flat against the ringing in his ears. "We're _what_?"

Erash shifted miserably at Garrus' tone. "We're running low on medi-gel."

"Are we out?"

"It's a close thing, but we're not at crisis yet. We've got enough for Mierin, Butler, and Melanis for tonight and tomorrow, and that'll get them out of the worst of it. The rest of the squad can get by without it, but then we'll be down to just two Kill Squads on active duty until they're fully healed."

"Right." Garrus forced himself not to cover his eyes. "And we can't exactly stop by the markets for more." He sighed. _Shepard. Shepard, what do I do?_

"Mordin's clinic," said Sidonis from the doorway. "Someone can make a quick trip, nice and quiet."

Garrus looked up. "Are you volunteering?"

Sidonis shrugged. "I'm not injured or exhausted. Vortash isn't, but he's helping Weaver with the hacks. You can't spare him, but you can spare me. Just makes sense."

It did. Garrus waited for Shepard's voice, warning him against it. Her voice stayed silent.

The idea of sending a member of the squad out by themselves galled him, but Sidonis had one unassailable point: he was the only one who could be spared. Garrus' nature and training told him he should be the one to go, but he felt the burn of fatigue in his muscles. If he went with Sidonis, he would only be a liability in a fight.

He considered a long time. Erash and Sidonis waited for his decision.

"There and back," Garrus said finally. "No delays, no engaging the enemy. You get the medi-gels, you come home. And," he added, with particular emphasis, "we're on lockdown until you get back. The only way you'll get back in is through me."

"Got it," said Sidonis. He met Garrus' eyes and nodded. "I'll suit up."

* * *

Garrus met Sidonis at the entrance to the tunnels.

"Take the detour through the Kartu district," he said. "It's clear of all merc activity."

Sidonis looked up from his shotgun. "It's also two hours out of the way, boss." He slammed a fresh clip into place. "Shouldn't the priority be getting back as soon as possible?"

"The priority is getting back," Garrus bit out, "without attracting any attention. I'm not going to pretend I like sending you out alone, Sidonis, but if this is our best option, then you're not taking any unnecessary risks."

Sidonis looked away, shoulders hunched. His posture matched his scent: sour worry, musky resistance. Garrus waited, unblinking, until Sidonis sighed.

"Kartu district it is," Sidonis slung his shotgun into its slot. "Don't expect me back for about six hours, then."

"We're on full alert until you're back. Come in over the bridge, not the tunnels. I'll be waiting for you there." Garrus laid his hand on Sidonis' arm. The other turian stilled and looked up, mandibles flicking nervously. "I hope I don't have to tell you to be careful. You're risking the whole squad if you get caught. No heroics."

Sidonis swallowed.

Shepard's words crowded Garrus' head, trying to force their way out. _They're your squad. They'll follow you into hell, and they'll fight for you until they're dead. But you have to take care of that loyalty. You have to be smarter._

"Don't make me regret sending you out alone. We're all getting out when this is done."

Except me, he thought, bitter and exhausted. Sidonis opened his mouth, no doubt scenting the cool edge of Garrus' weariness, but Garrus cut him off with a step into Sidonis' personal space.

"If you risk the squad," he said, a stone-calm rasp in his voice, "you're not getting back in."

Sidonis nodded. He smelled like nothing more than worry and eager anticipation.

Garrus stepped back. "I'll be waiting," he told Sidonis. "At the bridge. Don't forget."

"Copy that." Sidonis sealed his helmet in place. "See you in a few hours."

"Good hunting," said Garrus. His hands ached, clenched into fists at his sides. He wished he had his rifle to focus on. "Be careful, Sidonis."

"You don't need to worry about me, boss. Going silent." Sidonis saluted, with a wry tilt of his head. The last flecks of gold paint on his armor caught the light as he turned and walked into the dim tunnel.

Garrus came back into the common room to find the squad watching him, pale and weary. Mierin had made her way down the stairs with Melanis' help, and sat cocooned in blankets between her sister and Vortash. She reached up to scratch at the peeling skin on her neck, but Vortash grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand down, pinning it between both of his own.

"I know you're all tired," Garrus said, "but we're on full alert until he's back. Vortash, are the tunnels sealed?"

"Sealed and keyed to your omni-tool, boss. No one will get through unless it's with your code or military-grade explosives."

"Not to mention the charges in the tunnels," said Weaver. "And those are keyed to _my_ omni-tool. Anyone not broadcasting their squad ID gets blown to shit as soon as I hit the button."

"Good," Garrus nodded. "I'll take the watch at the bridge. Sidonis knows the approach, so if anyone comes down the tunnels, hit the trigger. No hesitation."

"Then we run," said Grundan.

Garrus shook his head. "If we blow the charges, we evacuate down the secondary tunnels through the practice range. It won't come to that. But," he said, letting his hunter's smile spread his mandibles wide, "no harm in being prepared. You all know the drill."

"I know an order to suit up when I hear it," sighed Sensat. "Just when I was getting comfortable, too."

* * *

Garrus held his position at the foot of the bridge, the base silent and watchful behind him. Six hours had gone by, without word or sign from Sidonis.

Sidonis stepped out of the darkness.

"Boss?" He shifted, the light flowing over his visor. "Boss, I need -"

Garrus raised his rifle and sighted. "Hold," he gritted through his teeth over the open comms. Sidonis froze, hands held high. "Helmet off, Sidonis."

Sidonis obeyed without pause. Garrus relaxed as the familiar markings appeared, but kept his rifle raised. Sidonis was back, but empty-handed.

"The medi-gels?"

"Never made it to the clinic," said Sidonis. "Boss, it's bad out there."

If Sidonis smelled of fear or deceit, Garrus' suit filtered away the traces. He paused, then lowered his rifle and unsealed his helmet. His first breath brought nothing but musty air and the smell of rotting food, and the second only brought more of the same.

"Approach." He beckoned with his free hand, and Sidonis took his first step onto the bridge. Garrus called up the palm menu of his omni-tool and waited, ready to key the charges.

Sidonis stopped ten feet away and brought his hands back up to carapace-level. Garrus breathed in again, and caught nothing. He relaxed and closed the palm menu.

"Talk to me."

"Jaroth, Garm, Tarak - they're all working together." Sidonis' mandibles drew in, quivering. "They're meeting now, down by the docks off the Kartu district."

"Weaver didn't get anything on the hacks," said Garrus, suspicion rising as his hands tightened on his rifle barrel, joints creaking.

"Boss, they're not using the comm channels, they're using damn _couriers_." Sidonis' voice frayed, the subvocals roughened by what Garrus knew was gathering panic. "They write the messages on datapads not hooked up to the extranet and -"

"Couriers," Garrus said hoarsely. Such a simple solution, so elegant the squad had missed it all together. "Damn."

"I can get us there," said Sidonis, in his broken, reedy voice. "We can break them, boss, but we've got to run." He shifted from foot to foot, eyes hungry. "We have to go, now."

"Hold on," said Garrus. His heart strained at his ribs. I can end it, break the backs of the mercs - "We need the others. A squad will have better luck than just us."

"No - it's too tight, a squad'll just get noticed." Sidonis took another step forward. "It's got to be us, boss. Smash and dash, just like they teach us in basic."

"I remember," said Garrus absently, watching Sidonis. "Why so eager, Sidonis?" He waited for the tells - the shifting eyes, the nervous hands - the things he'd learned in C-Sec, not basic, and what Sidonis couldn't know.

What a surprise, to learn that turians tried to cover their lies the same way humans did.

Sidonis' eyes never left Garrus' face, and his hands were steady. He shifted from one foot to the other, eager to start the hunt.

Garrus waited for doubt, for Shepard's voice.

Silence.

He flicked his comms to the base channel. "Butler?"

"I'm here."

"I need you at the bridge. Sidonis is back with some...interesting news. I'm going to check it out."

"Boss?"

"You heard me, Butler. You're on watch." Garrus paused.

_You have to be smarter. _

"Two hours, Butler. If you don't hear from me before then, assume -" Garrus fought to keep his voice steady against his rising exhilaration, and the finality of what he was about to say. "Assume the worst-case scenario."

A thoughtful pause came from Butler's end of the comms. "Aye, boss," he said.

_You were the start of the squad,_ thought Garrus. _You know them as well as I do, and you're a part of them in a way I can't be. That's why I'm asking you to watch them while I can't. While I end this. _

"Garrus," hissed Sidonis. "We have to go, now." He turned, heading back into the gloom at the far end of the tunnel, glancing over his shoulder.

The door to the base slid open. Butler leaned against the doorframe, yawning. His easy slouch was that of a man well-healed and well-rested. The medi-gel and mods had done their work well. Butler's eyes gleamed, alert above the sleepy set of his mouth. He didn't question Garrus. He was a good soldier: Archangel's strong arm.

"Two hours," Garrus said, and Butler nodded. The human understood.

"Aye, boss," he said, around another yawn. He glanced behind Garrus. "Sidonis already took off. Tosser."

Garrus huffed a laugh. When he turned his head, only the faint outline of Sidonis' armor stood out against the gloom. Time to run.

"Good hunting," said Butler. "Can't wait to hear about what's so interesting."

"Thanks," said Garrus, sealing his helmet back in place. He could barely see the last fugitive gleam of the gold paint on Sidonis' back. "I'll tell you all about it when I get home." _With the three biggest trophies of all to add to our count,_ he thought.

Butler saluted, hefting his SMG into the crook of his elbow.

* * *

Garrus caught up to Sidonis quickly, then fell back a few steps to let the other turian lead the way. Neither of them spoke.

The run reminded Garrus of his first run through Omega, Shepard at his side. He felt the same clarity, the purity of mind brought on by burning leg muscles and lungs clawing for stale air. Every corner they turned promised to have her hiding just around the bend, smiling her secret smile, and every corner disappointed him.

_Focus, Vakarian. This could all end today. _

Then what? Shepard would still be gone.

He bit his tongue, the spark of pain chasing away the thought.

_Focus, dammit. Get a plan together._

"How much further, Sidonis?" he panted.

"There's a spot about forty meters ahead for you to set up. Good vantage point. You'll be able to pick them off, and I'll take care of any bodyguards. It'll take longer for me to get into position than it will to kill these bastards." Sidonis' voice broke into rough peaks and valleys as they ran, laced with hate.

"Good," said Garrus. The battle-spell filled him, and he welcomed it grimly. All thoughts of the squad, the future, even Shepard, fell away, left on the ground behind him as he ran. He would scoop them back up on the way home, and carry them with him away from Omega.

"There," hissed Sidonis, voice low. He slowed and pointed to a pile of crates set against the catwalk rail. "You'll be able to see all three of them from here."

Garrus lowered himself into a crouch and knee-walked into position. Garm's red crest glowed in the far-off light, twenty feet below him, with Jaroth's thin form at Garm's side. The faint silhouette of Tarak's bulky armor stood off to the right, arms crossed on his chest.

"Incendiary rounds should keep them down while we finish them off," he whispered. "I don't even need to use my scope. Why do you think they're making it so easy?"

Sidonis laughed behind him, rough and spiraling. "They didn't think we'd ever find out about their little plan," said Sidonis. "They're dead wrong. Know which one you want to start with?"

"Garm," said Garrus without hesitating. He nodded to a half-shadowed corner on the other side of the catwalk. "Set up there. If Jaroth or Tarak try to run, take them down."

Sidonis gave his spiraling laugh again. "Figured you'd want Garm."

"Get into position," said Garrus, eye already focused through his scope. The HUD ticked sweetly as it measured Garm's heartbeat. "One minute, then I give the signal." Garm's back was to him. A few degrees' turn to either side, and Garrus could take out the krogan's shields with one shot. He counted to thirty, then thirty again. Sidonis wasn't in sight.

"Sidonis, are you in position?"

His comms rattled with static, but no answer from Sidonis.

"Dammit, Sidonis, this is no time to fool -"

"Boss?"

Garrus' hand twitched, a scant millimeter from squeezing the trigger. "Weaver," he hissed. "I'm in cover. This had better be good."

"Boss, the charges in the base just went dead."

Ice slipped down his spine. "What?"

"All of them, it's like someone flipped a switch." Weaver's voice shivered. "That son of a bitch - I'm locked out of the system!"

"Weaver, breathe," he said, as gently as he could as his tongue went numb. "Tell me what's happening."

"It was _his ID_, boss!" Weaver's voice cracked in desperate fury. "Fucking Sidonis! He shut down the charges!"

Garrus raised a head gone heavy and dull, looking for what he knew he wouldn't be able to find. Sidonis was gone.

"Get out," he said. "All of you, just run."

The last words faded to a whisper. Garm finally turned, presenting the broad side of his crest to Garrus. Even in the dim light, Garrus could see it wasn't Garm at all, and the salarian next to him wasn't Jaroth either.

His mouth went dry and sour. The ice closed over his head.

_Sidonis. _

Rage, pure and seething, flamed in his heart and went out, buried under the heavy waves of terror already crashing into him. He had blundered into the trap without question, and now -

"Weaver -" he choked out. _Shepard was right, she can't help them_.

"Boss? I can't -"

A rattle of gunfire sounded on the other end of the comms. Butler shouted, indistinct, and a grenade exploded close enough to the comms to send a blister of static into Garrus' headset.

Weaver screamed Garrus' name, and the comms went dead.

* * *

Garrus ran.

Through alleys and tunnels, through water and choking clouds of steam, through lightless corridors and white rooms.

He ran in silence.

So began the sixth day.

* * *

Garrus stopped running at the end of the bridge. He slid his rifle into its slot on his back. It hung in place, heavy and useless.

Useless.

His hands didn't shake as he unsealed his helmet and lifted it away. He held his breath as long as he could, until his lungs burned. Clenching his jaw helped a little, but in the end his mouth opened on its own and he sucked in a breath, gagging at the smell. Spent thermal clips and sweat, the acrid spray of fear - and blood.

He stumbled forward a step and then another. A chill began at his feet and worked its way upward, turning his muscles and bones to bitter ice. He kept walking.

The mercs had carried away their dead. Blue and red blood stained the bridge; the tang of unfamiliar sweat hung in the air, blunted by the smoke left by the proximity charges.

Some of them had been active when the mercs hit.

_Maybe, maybe they ran when the charges blew_. Garrus saw the squad running through the secondary tunnels, blowing the internal charges behind them. _Too close,_ they'd say, and laugh.

His heart opened to the hope with such purity that he heard their laughter and the sound of their footsteps, carrying them away to safety. For one blameless, perfect moment, Garrus believed.

The sound of the front door undid him. He jerked his head toward the noise. A dark shape slumped across the threshold, blocking the door as it tried to slide shut.

No one had made it out. They wouldn't have left anyone behind.

The light in the hallway flickered senselessly. Garrus watched it, counting the beats between light and dark, as his eyes went dry and started to ache.

He kept walking until he reached the door, and knelt beside the body. Butler lay on his side, one hand wrapped around the barrel of his SMG. Burns covered the fingers and palm, from where Butler had gripped the gun as a thermal clip - the last - overheated and spat itself out. His face had been burned away.

Garrus touched Butler's arm, mouthing his name. He pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the wall for support, and crossed into the base.

The silence wrapped around him. He reached up and pulled his visor away.

_Don't need it_, he thought numbly, and took another unsteady step.

Sensat's body spilled against the wall a few feet behind Butler. A shotgun blast had blown his chest open. His eyes stared wide and unblinking over Garrus' shoulder. Knees trembling, Garrus knelt and closed Sensat's eyes, and said his name. After a moment, he stood again, and kept walking.

Monteague and Ripper were in the kitchen. Ripper's shield still whined and sparked where he lay face-down, a single shot to the back of his neck. Garrus covered his mouth. Monteague had taken a shot, maybe more than one, to the thigh, and been left to bleed out. He had dragged himself across the kitchen floor before he died, his hand a few inches from Ripper's head.

Garrus forced himself to say their names. The words tried to stick in his throat. When he scraped them out, they rang flatly against the low ringing in his ears.

He faced the common room, and staggered against the counter. The world tilted, the colors turned wrong and red. Nothing smelled right, and everything was silent - not the silence of sleep or watchful hours, but the unending absence of sound.

Garrus stood. His throat ached, and his hands clenched over and over, his talons pricking through his gloves and digging into his palms.

_No time to run,_ said the distant, clinical part of his mind._ So they gathered together as best they could, and tried to defend themselves. _

_I should have been here. I should be dead. _

He made a noise, high and broken, and tried to cover his eyes. The room stayed exactly where it was, in perfect, lifeless clarity.

_I should have been here._ He opened his hands to the room. _I should have been here. This is my fault. _

He started to shake, and couldn't stop.

"Boss." The voice wavered, so weak he almost missed it. He swung his head around slowly, tracking the sound without any hope, but across the room, near the stairs, a body shifted.

"Vortash."

The batarian sat with his back against the wall, all four eyes misted and blind. His arms twined around a body in violet armor, marred by dark splashes of blood.

Mierin.

Garrus sank to his knees next to Vortash, dizzy and sick. "I'm here," he said, his gut wrenched by how small, how useless the words sounded against Vortash's weak breathing. "I'm here," he said again.

"She tried to stop them," Vortash wheezed. "Bastards. Took Grundan's eyes. She tried. Tried to stop." He blinked, and his head dropped like all the muscles in his neck had been cut. "Too many." His arms tightened around Mierin's body. "Good girl." He coughed, wet and clotted with more than blood. "Bas..."

"Vortash, hold on -" Garrus grabbed Vortash's shoulders and squeezed, willing his eyes to clear, for him to keep breathing. "I'm here, just...hold on. I'll get - I'll get med..." He whispered the last words, his gaze falling on the hole in Vortash's side, as big as his doubled fists.

"Bastards," said Vortash. He inhaled, a deep greedy breath, and choked. His chest rose, held, and fell slowly, the breath leaving him in a rattle.

Garrus stayed still for a long time, his hands on Vortash's shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said, and cringed away from his own voice.

_I can say it now, when there's no one left to hear me. What good does it do them? Look. Look!_

He looked.

The common room had been turned into a war zone. The blankets on the couches, thrown aside when the attack started, were soaked and stiff with blood half-dried. Someone's body sprawled across the back of one of the couches, torn apart by claws and teeth. The varren had been at him. Erash.

With a sound like the rasp of sand, the breath left Garrus' lungs. Erash's name lodged in his mouth and stayed there. His voice was gone, and for the best. What was there to say? He mouthed the name instead, and stood up.

The squad had stayed together, as long as they could, fighting back to back in a tight knot. The mercs broke them, and the squad scattered.

_To die alone, _said the clinical voice from its safe distance. Garrus ignored it and made himself keep walking.

The mercs had held Grundan down while they took his eyes and cut his throat. Garrus stumbled to his body, mouthing his name, the syllables unfamiliar shapes on his tongue. And Melanis, her hands broken, her jaw crushed, she had suffocated as blood filled her lungs.

No words existed. No body, no mind, no soul, could hold so much grief and stay standing. Garrus kept walking.

Someone moaned, the sound small and muffled, quiet enough to be hidden by his own breathing.

Garrus half-knelt, half-fell, clumsy in his armor, and crawled toward the workbench. Weaver's stool lay toppled on its side, a bloody handprint smeared across the leather seat, like someone had braced against it as they crawled underneath the workbench.

_She tried to hide. They shot her, and she tried to hide._ He shivered, every movement fevered agony. _Oh, Spirits, anything but this._

"Weaver." It was all he could say, as the most monstrous grief of all rose wailing in his head.

Weaver turned her head toward his voice. Her eyes slowly focused on his. "Boss," she whimpered, and started to cry.

Garrus reached out and touched her chin. He found his voice, stuck in his throat, and tried to talk. "It's okay, you're okay, it's fine, I'm here."

All a lie, except the last two words, and they were no use at all.

Weaver tried to shift, and screamed through her teeth. Her hand slipped off her chest, sticky with blood. "Oh God," she gasped, and pressed her hand back to her chest. A cough bubbled out of her mouth, wet and broken. "Oh my God."

Garrus shoved himself under the desk, clamping his hand over hers. "You're okay," he said again, eyes stinging.

"Fucking Sidonis," she hissed through bloody teeth. "Messed with my stuff, boss. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No," Garrus begged, cutting her off. He slid an arm under her and pulled her body against his chest. She felt heavier than he expected, all slack muscles in his arms. He knew he was hurting her, but she relaxed against him, pushing as close as she could.

_Anything but this. Let me save one of them_, he pleaded. _Just one._ He scrabbled with his free hand for the pouch at his waist, praying for a medi-gel packet, for a scrap of plastic film, anything, but his hand came back empty. Weaver gasped for breath. Her ribcage felt fragile as an egg under his hand, the bones warped out of shape.

_Concussive round to the chest at close range, without shields,_ thought the merciless, fascinated part of him_. Sucking wound. Not long now. _The voice dragged him away, to safety, far from the cold room that reeked of blood and the dying human girl in his arms.

_Shut up, shut up, _Garrus screamed at himself, shoving himself up against the wall of his grie_f. I did this, I brought them to this._

"I'm sorry," Weaver panted. "I'm so sorry, I tried but it hurts..." She grabbed his wrist and held on with fading strength.

"Don't you dare. It's not your fault." Garrus stood at the center of a hopelessness so great it was peaceful - the eye of the storm, surrounded by nothing but ruin. "You all - you all -" He couldn't finish, and pulled Weaver closer to him. She was freezing; he felt her chill skin through his gloves.

"They were so good," she whispered. Her eyes brightened. "All of them. They were so good."

"It's okay," said Garrus. "Don't - don't try to talk, just rest, I'll get medi-gel -"

Weaver laughed, sounding so weary and old that Garrus closed his eyes. "It's okay," she echoed, and tugged on his wrist. He bent his head.

"Anna."

"Anna," Garrus said. A wild, barren ache rose in him. "Anna Weaver."

She nodded, her white face satisfied, like she had passed on something of great worth. Her name burned in Garrus' throat.

"You should go, boss." Weaver moaned and pressed down on her chest. Her blood had soaked through his glove, and she shivered, lips blue. "They'll be back. Bastards," she added, voice breaking. "But we're good."

"Always. The best."

Her mouth trembled as she smiled. "Yeah," she said. Her eyes slid past him, pupils dilating. "Pretty."

Garrus leaned into her gaze, willing her to focus on him. "Wea - Anna, just stay with me. It's going to be okay. I promise you, it's going to be okay."

Weaver didn't hear him. No one did.

* * *

Garrus lowered Weaver - _Anna, her name is Anna_ - to the floor. When he stood up, she looked very small, and unspeakably young, and very far away.

_She might be sleeping_, he told himself, without trying to believe it. Her eyes were closed, but her hands - and his - were bloody.

He stared at her for a long time, willing himself to scream. He waited to go mad. He willed his heart to stop.

His mouth stayed shut, his mind moved in ordered lines, and his traitor heart kept beating.

And beating.

He carried them into the common room, one by one, and covered them with the blankets. Ten bodies.

_Weaver-no-Anna-Melanis-Grundan-Erash-Mierin-Vortas h-Monteague-Ripper-Sensat-Butler. _The litany tumbled through his head, unending.

He pulled his rifle from its slot on his back.

Garrus stared down at the squad, fists clenched around his rifle, and thought, _There should be twelve. Eleven will have to do. _

"Garrus?" Thrace's voice warmed with affection. Garrus winced. "Garrus, how are you?"

"I've been better," he said, and bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

Thrace paused. "Where are you, son?"

"I'm wrapping up one last job. Just wanted to say -" He paused, shivering. He couldn't seem to get warm. "Just wanted to say thanks, for your help."

Thrace stayed silent. "This job," he said finally. "Tough one?"

"The toughest." Garrus breathed in deeply. "Do you think we see them when we die?"

His father didn't need to ask what Garrus meant. "Yes," he said. "I do. I think they lead us onward." Another silence stretched between them, until Thrace broke it.

"What do you see, son?"

Garrus closed his eyes. "Nothing. My mistakes. Nothing."

"Then you're not done yet, Garrus." Thrace cleared his throat. "There's a lot you don't know, because I couldn't tell you. When you're done - when your job is done, you come home. I don't care what you see when you're done. You come home."

"Yeah, I will." Garrus fitted his visor back into place with his free hand. "I'll do that, Dad."

"Don't look for what might not come," said Thrace. "Remember what I said. Finish the job, and I'll see you soon."

"See you soon," said Garrus. He ended the call before Thrace could say more.

* * *

"You were right, Shepard," he murmured. "The balcony has a great view."

He heard the mercs coming long before he saw them. The roar of the Blood Pack, the heavy quick-march of the Blue Suns, and Eclipse's musical whirring mechs. They were coming for him. He checked his thermal clips one last time. Enough to get the job done.

He picked up his helmet and slid it over his head.

The noises got louder. He could see movement at the end of the bridge, beyond the barricade.

Archangel stood up and sighted his first target.

* * *

A/N: So ends part one of _Ghost._ Thank you all for staying with me so far! Next week, part two will begin. And oh, the places we'll go...


	22. Chapter 22

_Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind_  
_Cannot bear very much reality. _

T.S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton_", The Four Quartets_

* * *

Shepard woke with pain's teeth sunk deep in her muscles. Nothing new there. What _was _new was the woman's voice, yelling from somewhere above Shepard's head.

"Wake up, Commander!"

_Don't want to,_ Shepard thought, in a head filled with muzzy, smoke-like images. _It's warm here. Don't want to be cold any-_

"Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bed now! This facility is under attack."

An explosion deep beneath her rocked the room. Her head cleared and she blinked her eyes open to white tile and the smell of antiseptic.

"What -" she whispered, and grit her teeth against the pain in her jaw. The left side of her face sang with what felt like a dozen wasp stings. She touched her chin, and hissed through her teeth when her skin tore away.

_What the actual hell?_

"Shepard, your scars aren't healed but I need you to get moving. This facility's under attack!"

_That voice_. _I know that voice, but - _A black hole peeled itself open, hungry and endless, dead-center in her skull. She shied away from it, cringing.

Another explosion shuddered up through the bed, and brought the smell of heavy smoke and fire with it. She twisted upright, and a bright starburst of pain blossomed in her side.

Pain and fire.

The memory slammed into her and blotted out the room.

_Joker calls her name as she seals the escape pod door, arcs of fire dancing an arm's-length away. And above her, nothing but airless, lifeless space and the ruined body of her ship. _

"Oh my God," Shepard gasped, as her lungs tightened and her heart clenched. "I _can't breathe -_"

Her hands scrabbled at the back of her neck, fighting to steal back just a few more seconds of oxygen, but she couldn't grab the tube, she couldn't breathe, and she could smell her own body burning -

Her hands met the cool circle of her amp, and the bright tart taste of her biotics filled her mouth.

Shepard blinked. The room solidified around her. She was in a medbay, the outlines of its beds hazy through growing smoke. Fire licked at the windows, and somewhere, not too far away, someone screamed. The back of her neck smarted. When she looked down at her fingertips, a thin film of blood gleamed in the light.

"There's a pistol in a locker on the other side of the room. Hurry!"

_Not healed, my ass_, she thought, clarity punching its way through her mental fog. She swung down off the bed, muscles burning as they stretched. Her feet cramped as she tried to balance her weight. _I'm still a work in progress._

The black hole yawned wider, beckoning. Shepard set her back to it, turned her eyes away.

_There's a pistol in the locker_, she thought. _Whatever else, I've got my amp and I've got a gun. Everything else can wait. _

_Now. Let's find a thermal clip. _

* * *

The hole in her memory turned out to be the least of her worries.

_Cerberus. _

Shepard half-listened as she tried not to stare at their uniforms. Toombs' exhausted face peered at her, fury warring with resignation as he raised his gun.

_Meat and tubes. _

Her jaw ached. She didn't touch it. The body wrapped around her didn't feel like home; it felt treacherous, like a badly-crafted knife that would turn in her hand and cut her.

_Two years. _

_Two years and twelve days._

She couldn't help it; she jolted, heart-sick.

"I've been gone that long?" The words fell into the air separating her from Jacob and Miranda. Jacob made a move to put a hand on her arm and thought better of it, pulling away at the last minute.

_Yeah, no touching, _Shepard thought acidly. _Don't want to damage the investment any more than necessary. _She shifted away, curled around a dry, hollow misery.

_Two years. _

She stared out the window. Miranda cleared her throat delicately and pulled up her omni-tool display.

"We have just a few questions, Commander, to assess your state of mind -"

"Maybe you should have left me there," Shepard interrupted, still facing the window. "On Alchera."

Miranda stared at Shepard placidly, unsurprised by Shepard's interruption. "I assure you, Commander, that you are much better off with us." She cleared her throat again and tapped in a long string of numbers.

_What makes you so sure? _thought Shepard. The hole in her head chattered and hissed. _What makes you so goddamn sure I wasn't better where I was? _

* * *

_I suppose I should feel awed, or at least impressed. _Shepard considered the projection in front of her, as the neatly-clad grey figure shifted under her gaze. _He is, after all_,_ the architect of my return_. She couldn't summon more than a weary patience.

"How are you feeling?" the Illusive Man asked. He hadn't so much as glanced Shepard's way since his image appeared in the briefing room.

Shepard folded her arms and waited to learn what she could from his silences.

He chuffed out smoke and leaned back in his chair. "Standard interrogation technique. Present someone with silence, and they'll try to fill it. You don't need to use your N7 training on me to prove its worth, Shepard. I'm well-aware of your capabilities."

Shepard lifted her eyebrow a bare millimeter. _Yet here you are, filling the silence anyways. And this is kindergarten compared to N7 training. _

"What's the mission?" she asked. Gritting her teeth hurt, but not as much as clenching her fists. She did both.

The Illusive Man blew out another cloud of smoke, something like a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

"What do you know about the Collectors?" he asked. His posture gave little away, his eyes even less, and yet, something in him realigned as he spoke.

_I know enough to not trust the way you look when you say their name, _she thought, sour dread filling her throat. _You look _hungry.

The Illusive Man kept talking, about the Collectors, about Freedom's Progress, about human interests, as Shepard worried a bloody hole in the inside of her lip and thought about devil's bargains.

* * *

Two mechs closed on her position, buzzing politely about hostile forces. The shattered remains of the FENRIS mechs littered the ground between Shepard and where Jacob and Miranda crouched in cover. Her aim hadn't suffered, that much was clear, but her biotics were still untested. On the Lazarus Base, she'd been too keyed up to trust her control, and relied on her eyes and pistol instead.

_Now or never,_ she thought, as the LOKIs came down the stairs. She reached for the cool blue wave that danced constantly in the base of her skull, and gripped it tight. Her mouth filled with saliva, her eyes pricked, and she drew the wave in a line down her arm. Singularity was safe, Singularity was a good place to start -

She _shoved_ the wave down through her fingers, and felt herself ripped through the air, a corridor opening ahead of her as she rushed toward the mechs.

When she crashed back into the world again, air boomed around her and the mechs slammed backward, their chests and limbs crushed to slivers.

A shudder began in her feet and worked its slow, greasy way up into her spine. Her stomach cramped and twisted on itself. Shepard turned slowly, fighting the urge to retch.

_This is new_, said a bemused but fascinated voice in the back of her head. _New, but appropriate._

"What the hell did you do to my amp?" she shouted to Miranda, who stood thirty feet away, hand on her hip. "That was supposed to be a Singularity."

"That was - unexpected, Commander," said Miranda, somehow contriving to make it sound like Shepard had converted into a vanguard out of spite.

"_Unexpected?"_

"There were bound to be side effects," said Miranda, infuriatingly reasonable. "I'm sure you can adapt, Commander." She cocked her head as she holstered her SMG. "Be more open-minded. You have a whole new perspective now."

Shepard considered and discarded seven different replies, each more cutting than the last, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep anything she'd regret later from escaping. There was no way to tell how long she needed to cooperate with Cerberus; best to refrain from antagonizing Miranda too early.

Besides, the Charge felt _good_, like the first peak of a runner's high, or the first swallow of cold beer on a hot day. Like flying. Or like a kiss, unlooked for but sweet as autumn.

_This is going to take some readjustment,_ Shepard thought. Her amp crackled at the base of her skull, pent-up energy shoving at her control. The hole in her head was quiet. With the adrenalin still being pumped into her bloodstream, she felt light as dead leaves.

"Watch out," she called over her shoulder. "I'm experimenting." She waited until the count of five to give Jacob and Miranda time to get into cover, and gave the blue wave a mental twist, feeding its pulse down her arm.

Her fingers spasmed at the last minute and the explosions cascaded off to her right. The air filled with a sweet-sharp burning smell, like melting caramel edged with hot metal. The last, weakest explosion was still enough to blow apart a crate before it stopped.

The nerves in her arm jangled with residual energy. She banished the jitters with a mental shake, and clenched her fist, testing the strength of her fingers.

_Impressive,_ said the bemused voice. _A little practice is all you need. _

She shivered. "Let's keep moving," she yelled to Jacob and Miranda. "We've got lots of ground to cover."

* * *

As long as she couldn't feel her body, or at least wasn't aware of its aches, she could forget she wasn't herself. Not really, not anymore. Shepard Charged, weightless as dead leaves, fading in and out of the chill air.

She turned as the corridor collapsed behind her, pistol-whipping a LOKI and crushing its head with her boot. The turn moved her behind a crate, safe in cover, where she let out a long rush of a laugh.

_Maybe it'll be okay, _she thought, sucking in a lungful of chill air. _I can do this. I can do this. _

Jacob swung around the crate and crouched next to her, checking his clips. When he glanced up, he offered her a small, tentative smile.

"It's good to hear you laugh, Commander," he said, sincere on the surface, and maybe all the way down.

_Always the peacemaker,_ Shepard thought, filing the information away. "Shooting things makes me feel better," she said, popping out of cover to snap off a Shockwave as two FENRIS mechs approached. Her hand stayed steady as the explosions snapped the legs off the mechs. She finished them with a shot to each red eye. "Especially after talking to your Illusive Man," she added, the memory shaking loose her grin.

Miranda let loose a sigh, already long-suffering, from across the wreckage. "He's invested a great deal in your well-being, Commander. You should really be -"

"- more open-minded?" Shepard pressed, her smile sharpening. A nervous stray thought warned her to tread lightly, but she ignored it.

Miranda sent her an impatient look, one that clearly said _Step back, dangerous ground_, but the woman gave no other indication she had heard Shepard at all.

Shepard waited until the last whine of the mechs faded away, then eased up, scanning the perimeter slowly. She felt a low, reluctant gratitude that Jacob and Miranda stayed in cover until she nodded at them.

_At least I won't have to worry about getting shot in the back, _she thought with a wry inward grin. _It might not be all bad, being such a huge _investment.

Her grin stayed in place, hidden, until Miranda bypassed a lock on one of the prefabs and a handful of quarians looked up at them in shock, guns already in hand.

_Well, I think it's shock. _Shepard held up a hand to Jacob and Miranda, shaking her head as they tried to unholster their guns. _Can't really tell, can I? _

A violet-tinged shadow shoved its way through the quarians, its voice a sweet familiar crackle.

"Put your guns down, Prazza - _Shepard?" _

Shepard's grin floundered and disappeared, only to reappear on her face and stretch her new skin to splitting. "Tali?"

Tali took a step back, away from Shepard.

The hole in Shepard's head rattled and cooed.

* * *

So passed the first four days of Shepard's new life.

* * *

The second conversation with the Illusive Man was no easier to stomach than the first. Her head ached and her legs had begun to protest being stuck in armor for more than half a day. Whatever therapy Miranda had given her while she was out had let her regain most of her muscle tone, but nothing could make armor comfortable.

Shepard willed herself to stay still and to listen, unblinking, as the Illusive Man gestured behind her.

"I found a pilot I think you might like. I hear he's one of the best."

She tried not to hope.

"Someone you can trust," said the Illusive Man, adding a particular twist on the last word. He cut off the conversation before Shepard could question him, but the sound of unsteady steps behind her pushed the Illusive Man out of her head.

"Hey Commander. Just like old times, huh?"

"I can't believe it's you, Joker," Shepard said around a laugh.

"Looks who's talking, I saw you get spaced!"

"Got lucky, with a lot of strings attached." _And Tali won't look at me, so if I sound a little too happy to see you, let it pass._

At least Joker didn't seem dismayed by her return, or by her new coworkers. He didn't hug her, but he met her eyes without flinching. It was a start.

_Besides,_ she thought, as she followed him down a hallway, not fighting her grin, _we're both delicate flowers. A hug could turn deadly. Or very messy._

Her grin faded when Joker, in a low, exhausted voice, told her about the Council's cover story - Saren as a rogue agent, the geth firmly placed as galactic boogeymen - and slipped away completely when he turned to the Alliance.

_They grounded him. _She stared at the Cerberus patch on Joker's sleeve, and forced herself not to curse. _The best damn pilot they've got, and they took away his wings. Of course, he'd still have them if I hadn't stolen the _Normandy.

_Of course, _she thought, rueful, _we might all be dead if I hadn't._

"So you really trust the Illusive Man?" she asked, when he paused for breath.

Joker snickered. "I don't trust anyone who makes more than I do. But they aren't all bad. Saved your life. Let me fly."

"You have a remarkable way of simplifying things," she said, but thin relief trickled through her. "It's good to see you, Joker," she added, as sincerely as she could.

He looked away, tugging his cap over his eyes. "And," he said, voice rough, "there's this." They stopped in front of a bank of windows, privacy curtains drawn. "They only told me last night." Joker hit the controls and stepped back to stand at Shepard's side.

The curtains slid back with a low rush. Lights flickered along the far walls, illuminating the cool metal lines of -

"Damn." Shepard sighed as the ship came back to life in front of her, glowing under the lights. "Hello, beautiful."

Joker grinned, lover's warmth in his gaze. "It's good to be home, huh Commander?"

Shepard reached out to touch the window. Her fingers traced the _SR-2_ painted on the ship's side. "Guess we'll have to give her a name," she said, even though she knew there was only one name for this ship, no matter what colors she wore.

* * *

Shepard kicked her bag - her _personal effects_ - through the doorway and stared.

"I've got an entire floor to myself?" Shepard asked, half to herself.

EDI, as always, responded. "Yes, Commander. It was decided during the _SR-2_'s construction that the commanding officer's quarters should be located away from the rest of the crew. Ms. Lawson's quarters occupy what was once your cabin."

"Great," said Shepard, any enthusiasm dampened. "You can log out now, EDI. Thanks."

"Logging you out, Shepard."

Shepard waited until the door to the - _her_ - cabin closed before letting herself exhale. Some enterprising soul had already moved her armor - her _real _armor, not the pitiful bits of ceramic and metal she'd had to wear on the Lazarus Base - into her closet. The bed was twice as big as any she'd ever slept in, the sheets turned down invitingly under thick pillows. Everything smelled new and clean, like fresh pine and lemons. In the background, a fish tank bubbled sweetly. A _fish tank. _On a war ship.

She wanted to put her fist through it. She wanted to scream and smash her head against the pristine bulkhead. She half-reached for her biotics, just to be free of the hole in her head -

Tali had barely looked at her after the immediate shock faded. _Tali_, who had been more at ease facing down Saren's messengers down in the Citadel Wards than she had facing Shepard. Letting Veetor go home with Tali had been simple, choosing compassion over Cerberus' interest, but it hadn't been enough to make Tali make eye contact.

What hurt most was Shepard's growing certainty that this would be her future: finding old friends and watching them turn away when they saw what dogged her heels. She had thought stealing the _Normandy_ had been betraying her family.

_The costs just keep coming, _she thought, staring at her hands, where the skin was red and sore.

Asking about the rest of the crew seemed doomed, after Freedom's Progress, but weed-like hope half-strangled her. Seeing Tali reminded her of the desperate rush toward Saren, but those memories brought their quieter sisters: playing silent games of poker with Ash when neither of them could sleep, Kaidan's perfect table manners, and the echo of a quiet _a-ha!_ from Liara's quarters.

They were _unavailable._ A pretty euphemism, coded to ease her mind, but the truth couldn't be disguised. _Unreachable _was more accurate. She'd have to do this on her own, with whoever lurked inside the Illusive Man's dossiers.

_Secure your shit, Shepard. _She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. _If this is how you react the second you get any downtime, the Illusive Man'll recycle you into vat-protein and feed you to the crew. Get it together._ _People - not Cerberus - are counting on you. _

She focused on breathing, alternating low, flat inhales with soft exhales until some of the ramrod stiffness melted out of her spine. Then she stripped, kicking off her boots and peeling away the Cerberus undersuit. The cool air raised gooseflesh on her bare skin, just this side of painful; it reminded her to take off her bra and panties with extra care. She still managed to snag one of the hooks on the skin over the notches in her spine and hissed as a hot trail of blood slipped down her back.

Doctor Chakwas had warned her of the delicacy of her new skin, and the value of the cybernetics lurking underneath.

"You're a considerable investment, Commander," said Chakwas, with a pleased smile, and Shepard held back her cringe long enough to make her escape. The doctor meant well.

Everyone _meant_ well. Miranda with her checklists, Jacob with his tiptoe conversations, even Joker with his deliberate tactlessness - they all _meant_ well. None of it helped.

She stepped into the bathroom. Everything gleamed under the slick lights. Even her new skin shone - where it wasn't half-healed and glowing orange.

_All right, Shepard. Time to take stock._ Take stock, like her body was another delivery, to be checked off against a master list. Inventory. Investment.

Shepard lifted her head and confronted her reflection.

The scars on her belly were gone, along with the silvery teeth marks from some weird carnivore and the knife wound at the nape of her neck. Now, the skin between her breasts glowed fever-red, with ragged edges that stretched from the hollow of her throat to just below her ribs. A long line of tiny staples held together the skin on her left arm. A mercifully transient urge to pick the staples out tempted her, and she distracted herself by picking over the toiletries. Clean-scented, unisex products predominated, but a bottle of rose-scented body wash hid in the back.

_Thanks, Miranda_, thought Shepard, a giddy laugh bubbling out of her for no good reason. She pushed the laugh away and focused. _Come on, don't spare yourself. No one else gets a break, why should you?_

She'd never given herself a break. Just because she wanted to didn't mean she would, especially not now, when her own body felt like a jail cell.

She faced the mirror head-on, and stared at the whole of her body. Same belly button, same hollow hips, same high brows arched in constant incredulity. Cerberus had even kept the twice-broken curve of her nose. They really had wanted her exactly the same.

Except for her old scars. Those had to go.

_Meat and tubes,_ thought Shepard. She took a step toward the mirror, and then another, until her hips met the counter and her reflection doubled and warped. _I was meat and tubes, and before that I was ash and burned bones. What the hell was worth bringing back? _

She stared at her reflection, willing an answer out of the cold surface. None came.

"Guess it's me against the universe," she said, breath fogging the glass. "Again."

She laughed as she straightened. It hadn't been this way before. The fight against Saren had been a team effort, the entire crew honed into a single unit: one blade, swung in a killing arc.

And the edge of the blade had been her squad. Ash, Kaidan, Liara, Wrex, Tali, Garrus.

Garrus.

"Where are you, big guy?" she asked her reflection. Conjuring his face was easier than she expected. "The Illusive Man knew where everyone else was. Why not you? You're terrible at hiding your tracks. You're -" Shepard laughed, pressing her forehead to the glass. "You're still out there, right? I'd be pissed if you died." She forced herself to say the last words. "Lonely, too."

She shivered, and let the chilly air be her excuse. Shepard wrapped her arms around her chest, hands cupping her elbows, and stepped back from the mirror. Time enough for a shower, then bed. In the morning they'd set course for the Omega Nebula, and she'd build her team.

"Fun times," she murmured, ghosting her hands up her arms, testing her skin. When she reached her shoulders, she paused, frowning.

"The hell?" She leaned forward, twisting to the side to get a better look. Three marks, pale as the whites of her eyes, dotted the ball of each shoulder. "The hell?" she said again.

She stared at them for a long time, an obscure ache lodged in her throat, before she looked away and turned on the shower.


	23. Chapter 23

A hot shower usually sent Shepard's body into sleep-mode, but after twenty minutes under the stream, she was still wide awake. Her new cybernetics would keep her body moving long after the organic components gave up, but what muscles and nerves she had left felt slow and sick with fatigue. After her shower - the water as hot as she could tolerate - she padded into her cabin and toppled herself onto the bed, still naked.

_High thread count_, she thought as she rolled onto her belly. _Guess I'll have to thank Miranda for these too. _

She stretched slowly from the shoulders down, using the breathing exercises her mother had taught her when her muscles cramped and twitched after gymnastics or biotics training.

_Deep inhale, hold your breath, sweetie, slow exhale. _

_I know it hurts. Breathe it out. Deep inhale. Just like that. Good girl. _

For a flickering moment, Shepard felt her mother's hands between her shoulder blades, rubbing in slow circles. She sighed, reluctant to relax in what her mind still insisted on thinking of as enemy territory.

_Breathe it out, sweetie. _

Shepard sighed. Her legs twitched as the overworked muscles loosened.

"I should call Mom," she mumbled, and wish she hadn't. Thinking about her mother grieving for two years, only to find out her daughter was still alive and with _Cerberus_ -

_Better to let her hear through the grapevine, or not at all_, Shepard decided, curling on her side. The Alliance had plants in Cerberus, she'd have bet her life on it, and the news of her return would start to spread soon. _Like mold._

A familiar cramp bit into her left thigh. Shepard rolled onto her back, digging her fingers into the thick muscle. The pain moved in thick waves under her hands.

"Dammit," she gasped. Her leg stiffened and her hands slipped against her still-wet skin, tugging at the delicate layers. The fresh pain made her eyes water.

_Breathe it out,_ said her mother's voice.

"I'm trying," she groaned, and punched herself in the thigh. "Dammit, I'm _trying."_ She beat into the cramp, teeth gritted and head thrown back against the pillows. Tears slipped into her hair from the corners of her eyes.

_Breathe it out._ She emptied her lungs in a whoop, grinding her fist into the tight muscle. The cramp loosened, quick as it came. Shepard rolled on her side, knees drawn to her chest, and tried to catch her breath. An unexpected laugh bubbled out of her, relieved and giddy.

"Just like old times," she murmured through her laugh. _I may look like a monster out of an old horror vid, but my legs are still going to freak out after twelve hours in armor. I'm still me. _

Strange that some pain was a reassurance, and not to be feared. She laughed until the warm blanket of sleep cocooned her and carried her down into lightless silence.

* * *

Shepard had the strange experience of feeling spoiled for choice when she opened her closet five hours later. On the first _Normandy_, she had the choice of blue fatigues or more blue fatigues when she wasn't in full armor or working out. Now, someone - probably Miranda, or a lackey working on Miranda's orders - had filled the shelves with neatly folded clothes, packaged in clear plastic bags.

Refusing to wear the Cerberus patch might look petty, but even if she was sure the Alliance no longer looked at her as a favored daughter - or as their child at all - she didn't belong to Cerberus either. She hadn't yet reckoned the cost of their partnership; nothing got a place on her body without her knowing the its exact price.

That left her with colonist work clothes, or a modified version of a researcher's uniform. She peeled them out of the packaging and laid them on her bed.

Without a doubt, she knew the work clothes would be more comfortable. The joke was that they'd outlast a hurricane better than the wearer, and still feel like a pair of flannel pajamas. All advantages, except for all the skin left uncovered.

She glanced down at her body. The orange glow under her skin might - _might _- have faded slightly, but there were too many sharp edges, even on the _Normandy_. She shoved the work clothes back into their packaging and turned to the uniform. It would cover her from neck to toes, with conductors in the fingertips. Getting dressed felt like sealing herself inside a locked room, with the key on the outside.

_What if someone wants to touch me? _Shepard wondered, watching as the white marks on her shoulders disappeared under the fabric. She laughed, the cracks on her cheek stinging, a reminder that being touched was the last thing she needed.

She brushed her hair behind her ears as thin strands escaped and clung to her face. _This is why I was trying to grow it out_, she thought. _Maybe I'll shave it off. _

The thought of her face's sharp angles without her hair to soften them made her shudder. Her features were already harsh enough; as much trouble as it was, her hair needed to stay. She lingered over the small cosmetics case she found in a desk drawer, but decided against her usual eyeliner and glosses. No matter what the labels claimed, an hour in full armor always made her sweat off any make-up she tried to apply. Better to save it for when it could last.

_At least I'm not vain. Check that off on the "am I still me" list. _She dusted her gloved hands on her thighs and faced the door. _Time to get to work. _

A shadow unfolded itself next to her desk. Shepard turned, moving on instinct down the stairs toward cover, and saw the ragged shadow dissolve under the cold ceiling lights. Deep in her head, the hole twisted, and bramble thorns clutched at the spaces behind her eyes and above her amp. She reeled, vision greying out.

_Goddamn. Is this what Kaidan had to deal with?_ She blinked her eyes clear, focusing on breathing. _Goddamn._ The pain faded, but a cold, windswept feeling stayed with her, even after she got into the elevator.

* * *

"Unlimited funds, and Cerberus can't spring for chairs in the briefing room," Shepard murmured after a quick glance inside.

"Spent all of it on rebuilding you," said Joker, a few steps behind her. She turned a blank stare on him, and he quailed back, hands held up in surrender. "Uh, money well spent, Commander."

A grin tried to quirk her mouth. She turned her head to hide it. "You sure you want to be in on this meeting, Joker?" she asked. "There's no reason for you to leave that armchair of yours."

"I don't want to miss the show." Joker's grin was all Shepard could see under the bill of his cap, but she knew its translation: _Time to wipe the floor with these morons_. "The old _arrive half an hour before the meeting's scheduled to start_ gambit, right?"

"Something like that," she answered, giving him a real grin this time. The briefing room smelled the same as her cabin: metal, new plastic, and -

"Coffee, Commander?" asked Miranda from the door. "Black, three sugars?"

Joker started to laugh and smothered it with a cough. Shepard took the proffered mug with a nod of thanks, noting Miranda hadn't brought any for Joker.

_Oh, to be a fly on the wall when she met Joker for the first time._

The coffee smelled heavenly, like _actual_ coffee. She glanced at Miranda over the rim of the mug, quietly gratified when Miranda nodded.

"The real thing, Commander. I insisted." Miranda preened a bit more obviously than usual and took a sip from her own mug.

_Probably takes it black,_ Shepard thought. _Black and thick enough to stand a spoon in. Just to prove a point._

The door slid open again, Jacob saluting as he entered. If he felt any surprise over being the last one to arrive at a meeting that wasn't scheduled to start for another half hour, he didn't show it. Shepard gave him a nod and finished half her coffee in a swallow.

She saw no reason to bother with introductions; by now, Miranda probably knew Joker almost as well as she knew Shepard, and Jacob seemed like the type to over-prepare.

"Good morning, everyone," she said. "Thank you all for coming. If no one has any pressing concerns, we'll get started. EDI, bring up the star map."

"Of course, Shepard." The room's lights dimmed to half-strength, and the hollow in the table's middle glowed as the star map formed in mid-air.

"I've gone over the dossiers." She set her mug down on the table and braced her hands on the surface to lean forward. "It's been recommended that we start on Omega and recruit Doctor Solus, and I see no reason to disagree. It'll allow us to recruit Zaeed Massani and Archangel as well. Provided we're able to find him."

"That could prove difficult, Commander," said Miranda. "Omega's a maze, even for people who have lived their entire lives on the station. We don't even have a base of operations for Archangel."

"Doctor Solus may know," Shepard replied. "According to the dossier, he's run his clinic there for almost three years. He's bound to know the ins and outs of his district, at least. It's a place to start."

"Agreed," said Jacob. "We can question the clinic staff, too."

Shepard met Jacob's eyes through the star map. "I'd prefer to keep things civil." She pushed off the table. "From my experience, Cerberus tends to ask questions at the barrel of a gun."

"Or the end of a syringe," said Joker. Shepard cut him a glare, cold fingers tracing her spine as Kahoku's last message echoed in her head. Joker shrugged an apology, lips pressed in a tight line.

_What the hell have I gotten us into?_ _Everything comes with a damn price. _She resisted the temptation to rub her eyes, and shoved off the table.

_Remember what you're fighting for. Remember Saren. Remember Sovereign. _

Her gut still rolled. Her breakfast rations sat in her stomach in a greasy lump.

_Everything comes with a price._

"What can we expect when we dock?" She directed the question at Miranda, her eyes never leaving the star map.

"Other than the immediate need to shower?" Miranda folded her arms. "EDI?"

"There are reports of widespread illness throughout the wards," replied the glowing interface. "The first verified reports began three days ago. A group of Blue Suns were the first known victims."

"Nothing's ever easy." Shepard straightened and rubbed her shoulder. "How many are sick?"

"It is difficult to say. Few accurate population records are kept on Omega. Comm channels indicate that the infected now number close to two thousand,"

"In only three days?" Jacob whistled. "Sounds like a mean mother."

"EDI," asked Miranda. "In what districts is the disease concentrated?"

"It appears to be most virulent in the Gozu district, Ms. Lawson."

"Ah," said Miranda. She sipped her coffee. "Full biohazard armor, then."

"That will not be necessary. The disease is extremely infectious, but it does not affect humans."

Shepard paused, her fingers hooked around the handle of her mug. "Thanks for the good news, EDI," she said. _Won't have to deal with decontamination and open facial wounds. Small blessings. _"Joker, how far out are we?"

"We're an hour from the relay, then two hours max at full burn to get to the station," he answered.

"Right." She flexed her fingers. "Enough time for weapons check before we get suited up. Massani will meet us at the docks, according to the dossier. If no one has anything else, I'll be in the Armory. You can log out now, EDI."

"Yes, Shepard. Logging you out."

The room's lights came back up slowly. Across the table, Jacob and Miranda exchanged a private look. Shepard cleared her throat.

"Anything else?" she repeatedly pointedly.

Jacob shifted. "Commander, I've checked the weapons. Everything is in order."

"I'm sure it is," she said, tempering her voice. "Call it superstition, call it tradition, but I always give - gave - everything a look before an op." No one flinched at her slip. "And I plan on doing so for the duration of our mission."

Jacob saluted again. "Commander."

"We'll meet again in the shuttle bay." She raised her mug, but her coffee had gone cold. "Dismissed," she said, and stayed until everyone else had left the room.

* * *

Checking over the guns took far less time than Shepard hoped. With almost an hour left before she could reasonably head down to the shuttle bay, she took the elevator back up to her cabin, with the half-hearted intention of refining her biotics before leaving. Holding a gun gave her no issues, not even a shotgun, but her hands still twitched when she sent the dark energy flowing through her nerves.

She had no doubt she'd need her shotgun _and _her biotics on Omega. Even from this distance, she felt the station's presence press against her, constantly shifting.

"No time to get poetic, Shepard," she murmured, and reached for her zipper. She dropped the suit on the floor and padded down the stairs toward her closet in her bra and panties. A quick investigation of her closet revealed a new workout suit, charcoal grey with blue trim, cut to her measurements.

_Miranda probably carries all of that in her head. It'll make her useful when I can't remember what my inseam is._

She tossed the workout suit on her bed and stooped to pick up a pair of exercise shoes. Her bare back broke out in unexpected goosebumps. She glanced over her shoulder on instinct, the shoes dangling from her fingers.

A dark shape flickered off to her left. Instead of folding back in on itself, it reformed, and presented arms, legs, a face -

Shepard rolled into a crouch behind the bed, already making the mental reach for her biotics. Her pistol sat on her desk, where she'd left it the night before.

_Too slow, Shepard_. _Get it together. _

She formed the Pull in her head, a long blue hook, and threw it in an arc over the bed. Three-fifths of a second; that was how long it would take to send them flying across the room. She could make a run for her pistol then.

The internal jerk in her gut that echoed the Pull never came. She counted four seconds, fingers clenching around an imaginary pistol, and twisted to peer over the bed.

The shape moved.

It didn't walk, or run. It simply disappeared, and reappeared on the bed, staring down at her. Shepard had a brief impression of black armor and black hair before she threw herself away, skidding across the floor toward the stairs. The shape's arms flashed out, catching at the space where Shepard had just been crouched.

Her pistol lay inches from her fingers. She lunged up the stairs, knowing she had just exposed her back to the silent figure, and not caring. Her fingers brushed her pistol and sent it clattering off the desk.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. _She scrabbled for her pistol, left arm extended as far as her muscles allowed, and the staples in her skin tore free. Pain bursting in white sparks behind her eyes. When her vision cleared, the figure crouched in front of her, its face inches from hers.

"Shepard," it said.

Shepard floundered, caught between wanting to cradle her bleeding arm and wanting to strike. Her hesitation lasted only a moment. She formed her right hand into a fist and swung for the figure's head. Before she made contact, the figure disappeared, and something caught her wrist.

She pivoted, kicking out with her right leg, but it vanished, reappearing in front of her closet. It was a woman, with skin the color of brown sugar and a black tangle of hair.

"Shepard," she said again. "My Shepard."

"_What?"_ Shepard shifted behind her desk and grabbed her pistol. She checked the thermal clip by feel.

_I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, nothing's there. _

Something rustled to her left. She spun out of cover, pistol raised in her right hand. The first adrenalin burst hit her bloodstream.

The woman stood in front of Shepard, inches away. Shepard let out a strangled yell as the woman's cold hands wrapped around her arms. At this distance, Shepard saw how the skin on the woman's cheeks twisted into ridges.

"I was touched by fire," said the woman.

_White eyes, _Shepard's mind gibbered. Her fingers went slack on her pistol and a chill spread through her, until her nerves were ice-locked and even the warmth of the blood on her arm disappeared.

"Not Alchera," said the woman, her voice cracking. "Think of Omega, Shepard."

"I -" Shepard's gut twisted, sour spit filling her mouth. "I -"

"Think of Omega," said the woman. "Do it." She made a noise, like broken stones ground together, low in her throat.

_Omega. _

"Omega, Shepard," pleaded the woman. Something rough and pained rose out of the lower registers of her voice. "You need to - move quickly."

The world lurched sideways. Shepard's head pounded as the hole stretched, its emptiness spilling over the edges.

"No!" She threw herself away and hit the floor belly-first, hard enough to knock the wind out of her lungs. The hallucination broke apart; the hole shrunk, muttering to itself, and went silent.

Shepard pressed her face to the tile and tried to breathe. She lifted her head slowly, blinking the last of the fractals away. The woman was gone.

"The hell," she murmured to the room. She pulled her knees to her chest and waited, eyes closed, until she stopped shaking. "I'm not crazy," she whispered. "I'm not. I was _dead_. Who knows what's floating around in my head?"

All around her, the _Normandy _shivered as it slowed and began its approach.

* * *

Shepard dressed slowly: black undersuit, black protective mesh, and then the layers of red metal and ceramics. She kept her mind a careful blank, _tabula rasa_, until the white eyes rose in her vision again.

_Move quickly. Think of Omega._

Her hand slipped on a clasp and the nails on her thumb and index finger split down to the quick.

"_Fuck!"_ she yelled. The pain gnawed its way up her arm. "What the _fuck!"_

_I'm not crazy. I'm not_, she thought, desperate. _I'm not crazy._

She heard a high whining sound and realized, chest heaving, that it was coming from her. Her hands flew to her mouth and tried to shut the sound behind her teeth, but it buzzed in her head, behind her eyes.

_If I'm not crazy, then what am I?_ _What am I?_

Her body tightened around her. Muscles snapped wire-tight, in direct opposition to the adrenalin getting dumped into her bloodstream. Trapped. The panic-signals her brain sent out - _run move flee fight run run run run -_ stopped at the base of her skull, and she stayed silent, locked in place.

She had felt like this before, when the shadow towered over her and the only thing she could hear were the screams of her unit as they died, paralyzed.

_This body is a cage_, she thought, and the shaft of despair that followed the idea broke through her paralysis.

"_Fuck!"_ she yelled again, broken and half a sob, and swung her right fist at the wall.

She didn't pull the punch at the last second; her fist hit the wall with all her strength behind it. The broken nails hurt, the open wounds on her face hurt, everything _hurt_, but the moment of connection was agony. Vicious, furious _agony_, as the not-healed, fragile bones of her hand and fingers creaked with hairline fractures. The impact traveled up her arm, through her shoulder, up her neck, and sank deep in her head.

The hole waited, patient and empty.

"I'm not crazy," she whispered, and shivered at the sound of her own voice. "I'm me. Whatever that was - it can wait."

Shepard straightened and breathed in. Her hands were steady. Slowly, she unclenched her fist and flexed the fingers. They moved smoothly, despite the low note of pain still singing in them.

_You're mine, _she told her body. _I'm not yours. That's not how it works. Listen to me. Listen._

A moment later, when the worst of the pain in her hand had faded, she picked up her visor and set it over her eye. She felt clean, controlled; she felt ready.

All the deep breathing couldn't banish the woman's voice from her head, or make her ignore the way her body pulled at her control, toward Omega. She set her teeth and walked to the elevator.

"I'm looking forward to starting the work, Commander," said Jacob, as she passed him on the way to the airlock. "If we even get half of our recruits, the Collectors won't know what hit them."

The temptation to like Jacob - or to at least return some small part of his efforts - finally won, and she smiled at him. She enjoyed optimism, when it didn't cost her anything.

"We're raising an army, Mr. Taylor," she said. "Half the battle will be getting everyone to work together."

Jacob nodded, like he had already considered this and left his doubts far behind. "Whatever comes, I'm with you."

"I appreciate it." She turned her head toward Miranda, who watched without expression. "I'm not going to have to worry about my orders not being followed, am I, Ms. Lawson?"

Miranda gave every impression of rolling her eyes without twitching a muscle. "There won't be a problem, Commander," she answered, and brought up her omni-tool display, blocking Shepard's view of her face.

Shepard checked the clasps on her armor again. With the last possible delay used up, she nodded toward the airlock. "Move out."

They barely made it on the station before a salarian melted out of the murky yellow light, face creased in a smile.

"Ah, welcome to Omega! You're new here, I can always tell! Welcome to - to -" A broad, armored hand snatched the salarian's shoulder and pulled him back before he could finish his patter.

"Leave, Fargut," said the batarian attached to the hand. "Now."

"Aah, right away! Whatever she wants!" The salarian shrank away from Shepard, his grin thin and watery, and crab-walked back into the shadows. The batarian watched him go, sneering, before he turned to Shepard.

"You're expected," he said. "Aria wants to see you. Now."

_Ah yes, Omega's queen_. The Irish-stubborn part of Shepard's nature rose to the forefront, and her body followed its orders: hip cocked, arms folded, eyebrows arched. _Tell her she can wait, I've got a doctor and an angel to find. Time's wasting._

"I'm not here to cause trouble," she said instead. "I'm making a few pick-ups, and then I'll be on my way. No mess, no fuss." Even though it galled her, she added, "I don't care what she's got going on here. Get out of my way."

The batarian sneered again. Behind Shepard, Jacob shifted. She bit her lip; Wrex was less obvious about going for his gun.

"Things explode around you, Shepard. I'd say that's enough to make anyone sane worry. Not to mention how you look pretty good for a dead woman. Aria's got questions." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Afterlife, _now_." Message delivered, the batarian sauntered away.

"That was the welcoming committee?" asked Jacob. Neither Shepard nor Miranda answered him.

"In the interests of diplomacy," Shepard said, measuring her words carefully, "we can spare the time."

_Can we? _The jitters were in her fingers now, and the crackle of her amp echoed in her head. _Can we?_ She shoved the thought away and started down the hall, her boots ringing on the metal floor. Someone screamed nearby, and a second voice swore and told them to be silent. Shepard unholstered her pistol and spun a thermal clip into place with her thumb.

In a pool of dirty light, a human seemed to be kicking a batarian in Blue Suns armor to death. Her stomach sank. She'd hoped for more time before she needed to make this particular pick-up.

"Zaeed Massani?" The human aimed one last kick at the batarian's stomach before he straightened to look at her.

"Yeah, who's askin'?" He rested his foot on the batarian's shoulder.

Shepard stopped a few steps away, just shy of a milky-yellow puddle. "Commander Shepard," she said. "I was told you were expecting me."

"Oh yeah." Zaeed rocked back on his heel. "Cerberus' pet Spectre."

_That's going to get real old, real fast_. Shepard kept her face neutral, even as she replied. "Half right." Behind her, Miranda coughed into her hand. "I assume you've been briefed?" she asked.

"I've done my homework." Zaeed's scars puckered. "You know about my arrangement?"

Shepard bit the inside of her lip. "No," she said carefully. "Lay it on me."

Miranda made her delicate throat-clearing noise. "Commander, the Illusive Man -"

"Ever heard of Vido Santiago?" interrupted Zaeed. Shepard noted he hadn't looked at Jacob or Miranda since they had started talking. One potential fracture already, and she hadn't even gotten on the station. She shook her head. Zaeed snorted. "He's a bastard. Runs the Blue Suns. I want him dead. That's my asking price."

"Killing a merc?" said Jacob. "Not exactly a stretch."

Shepard cut him a look over her shoulder. Zaeed snorted again. She turned back to him, considering the scars, the tattoos, the cold eggshell-colored eye.

_Is this a guy I want on my team? He's not a merc, he's a menace. _

_Jacob's a gun for hire and Miranda's wrapped around the Illusive Man. You're not going to do much better, unless Mordin's a saint and Archangel lives up to his name. _

"One less Blue Sun in the galaxy?" She held out her hand. "I think we've got a deal."

Zaeed shook, smiling without any joy. His grip was firm, but not cruel. "I think we do. This little bastard's been giving me intel on Santiago, ain't that right?" He jerked his head at the batarian, who chose that moment to let out a groan. Zaeed kicked him again. "Shut up, you piece of -"

The batarian slid out from under his foot and and scrambled away. Zaeed pulled his pistol, the thermal clip humming as it whicked away the heat, but Shepard moved faster. She kicked out to the left and caught the batarian in the knee. He went down with a grunt and didn't move.

Zaeed made an impressed noise. "I think I could like you, Shepard."

She gave him a charmless smile. "Get your gear," she answered.

* * *

Shepard gave the batarian five seconds for his scan before she pulled out her gun.

"If you're looking for weapons, you're not doing a very good job."

"Can't be too careful with dead Spectres," said the slender figure at the top of the stairs. It turned into the light slowly, a typically stunning asari forming out of the shadows. Shepard stifled the urge to curtsy. Amusing as it would be, it wasn't exactly politically expedient. "That could be anyone wearing your face."

_Oh it's me,_ Shepard thought, and sat down when Aria gestured at the sofa. _I'm just not sure I remember who that is anymore. _

"So you have questions for me," she said, once Aria had arranged herself opposite Shepard and her lackeys returned to their places. "Let's hear them."

"I _wanted_ to know what the legendary Commander Shepard was doing with a bunch of Cerberus drones, but one look at you told me you're not with them, so much as you're suffering their presence to get something accomplished." Aria's eyes shone red in the pink lights. "You could tell me what you want on my station, for starters."

"What do you know about Mordin Solus?" Shepard let the question form her answer.

Aria's painted brows rose in fleeting surprise before a pleased smile touched her mouth. "The salarian? He's down in the Gozu district, trying to cure Omega of its ills." Her smile turned icy and slipped away, even as her voice warmed. "I always liked Mordin. A little crazy. He's as likely to shoot you as he is to heal you."

"You two go way back?"

"You could say that." Aria leaned back against her couch. "You can try taking a shuttle to the quarantined area. I won't stop you from going after him if you want him, but if you bring the plague back with you -"

Shepard waved away the implied threat. The barefaced turian on her right took a step forward, reaching for his gun, but Aria shook her head. Amusement, sharp and fleeting, gleamed in her eyes. Shepard allowed herself a brief burst of satisfaction at judging Aria correctly, then pressed her luck.

"What about Archangel?"

Aria stiffened, smirking now, and Shepard sucked in a breath. "Typical vigilante, but he was more effective than the rest. More fun to watch. Omega's avenger." She turned her bright gaze on Shepard. "Why? You want him dead too?"

"No," Shepard answered, as evenly as she could. "Is he in trouble?"

"You could say that," said Aria, like she was talking about an enormously satisfying vid. "Half the station wants him dead. The major merc groups - Eclipse, Blue Suns, and Blood Pack - have all teamed up to take him out. They already got his squad. He's held out for almost twenty-four hours on his own." Aria tapped a long finger on her knee. "Must be getting tired," she mused.

_Well, shit, _Shepard thought, as a tremble stretched out, razor-fine, along her nerves. The woman's voice rang in her head. _Move quickly. _"Do you know where I can find him?" She knew she was giving too much away; her voice sounded plaintive, like a little girl's. Aria's gaze sharpened. She looked a second away from licking her lips.

"Kima district," said Aria, after a long pause in which Shepard didn't fidget or change expression. Her lack of response seemed to disappoint the asari. "And you're in luck. The mercs are recruiting freelancers downstairs. You've got a perfect entrance, if you want to save him. Or kill him," she added. "Either way, it'll be a good show."

"Sounds like you hate Archangel too," Shepard hedged, trying to keep her hands from shaking. The urge to run was in every muscle.

"I don't have time to hate," said Aria. She watched Shepard, almost smiling. In the low light, she looked very old and very beautiful. "He amused me, which is more than most manage. I'll tell you this much, Shepard, because watching you tear through mercs is going to be the most fun I've had in months. Move now, or don't go at all. Archangel's almost finished."

Shepard's gut twisted. _Move quickly._ She gave Aria a nod and went down the steps as quickly as self-preservation allowed, only stopping when Aria called her name.

"Someday you'll have to tell me what it was like. Being dead."

"You assume I'll remember," Shepard said over her shoulder.

"Oh, you will." Aria's smile never wavered. "That's not something you can forget forever."


	24. Chapter 24

Shepard doubted the kid would take her advice and get his money back, but at least he looked like he would think twice before signing up. The door closed on him as he stared down at his pistol, a worried pucker creasing the skin between his eyes.

"Dumb kid," said Jacob, all easy sympathy. "Good thing you were there, Commander."

She shrugged, eyes ahead. Afterlife had filled considerably since they entered, and the dancing had progressed from uninhibited to desperate. They maneuvered through the crowd and out into the brighter, quieter entryway, then into the station proper. The temperature dropped a few degrees, but the desperate current in the air stayed.

Shepard glanced toward the shuttle bay, where a batarian in a Blue Suns uniform leaned against a wall, deceptively relaxed.

_Looks like I know who's running the show now_. She stepped into the merc's sightline and blocked Zaeed from his view.

"All right, we're going to play this - Miranda, do you have something to add?"

Miranda blinked, surprise flickering over her features before she smoothed her mouth into a polite, flat line. "Isn't our time better spent recruiting Dr. Solus? A counter-measure against the Collectors -"

_Move quickly._

"I appreciate the input, Miranda, but Dr. Solus doesn't have a time limit, or three merc companies with grudges going after him." Shepard adjusted her visor. "Archangel is our priority. Let's move." _We'll just leave out the part where a hallucination told me to hurry._

Miranda opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it.

Shepard turned to Zaeed. "You're heading back to the _Normandy_."

He broke off glaring over her shoulder at the Blue Sun to glare at her. "Like hell I am."

"Like hell you aren't," she fired back, nerves lighting up with bursts of adrenalin. She felt like she had just been doused with cold water: twice as awake, every movement edged with a shiver. Her tone made Zaeed take a step back. Shepard couldn't imagine what her face looked like. "You've got baggage with the Blue Suns, and I won't let it risk the mission."

"Word's gotten out by now I'm on the station," he said, low and cold. "They'll wonder if I don't show up."

He might have been right, but under the jitters and the adrenalin fugue, Shepard felt the battle-spell settle around her. She gambled. Head back, eyes slitted, she met Zaeed's gaze. "You want your old buddies to see you roll in with a bunch of freelancers?"

"Or Cerberus?" interjected Miranda, matching Shepard's tone flawlessly. The reflective edge of Shepard's visor picked up Jacob's image as he crossed his arms.

Zaeed favored each of them with a glare, but Shepard saw the miniscule drop in his shoulders, and hid a smile. She nodded and turned away, not waiting to see if he followed her orders. With someone like Zaeed, you never showed doubt. There was a chance he wouldn't be on the _Normandy_ when they got back, and she'd have to deal with the Illusive Man then, but for now -

"Let's get ourselves an angel," she said. Miranda gave her the tiniest hint of a smile, and walked at her side toward the shuttle.

* * *

_I don't like this salarian. Not because he's a merc, not because he's in my way. Because he's an asshole._

If time had been on her side, if she didn't have the Collectors to worry about, Shepard would have happily wrung Jaroth's neck and walked away without a regret. She clasped her hands behind her back, just in case her self-control wavered, and attempted to look stupid and over-eager.

"So what can you tell me about Archangel?"

Jaroth put his elbows on the table and smiled as distant shouts and rifle fire echoed through the room. "His life expectancy is shortening quickly."

Shepard stifled the urge to run toward the gunshots. "Anything else?" Her tone, borderline belligerent, made Jaroth glance up with narrowed eyes.

"His squad managed to hide for two years right under our radar, so don't kid yourself if you think you're the one who's going to take him down. He's smart and he's fast." Jaroth's smile turned nasty. "But he doesn't have his squad anymore. Not even that kid he had as his tech expert. Won't be long now." He glared at Shepard, his smile fading. "Is that all, or can I get back to work? These mechs are more vital than you are."

Shepard held up her hands and took a step back. "Fine," she said, with just a touch of insolence. "I'm out of here."

_Out of here, and off to find wherever you keep your mechs. Idiot. _

* * *

"The more I hear about Archangel, the more I like him," said Jacob. He checked the thermal clip in his pistol and offered Shepard a grin. "A one-on-one fight with Garm? Breaking into Tarak's base? Ops like that take serious guts."

Miranda stepped around a puddle, wrinkling her nose at the smell. "A serious team, too. Who are all currently dead. It makes you wonder if going after Archangel is the best course of action."

Shepard walked faster. She had a datapad folded into a pouch on her leg she thought Aria would be _very _interested in, but that would wait. Now, she turned over her conversations with Garm and Jentha slowly, waiting for something to gleam in the darkness.

_Someone who can hold off Garm. Someone bold enough to go after Tarak at home. Someone who managed to hide in the mercs' backyard for two years. Who is this guy?_

Scraps of information were all she had. A turian, with a serious hero complex and a massive grudge against mercs - almost enough to make her hope.

_I don't have time for hope._

The Blue Suns glared at her and her squad from cover, and she wished she had taken the time to kit Jacob and Miranda out in something other than their Cerberus uniforms. Too late now, and prying Miranda out of her uniform would only happen when the woman was dead.

Shepard squashed that line of thought and scanned the corridor. A barricade had been set up at the end of the bridge - presumably by Archangel, or his dead squad - and two freelancers crouched beneath it, popping out of cover in turns to fire at a balcony. She leaned against a wall with her back to the bridge to get out of the firing line, and looked over her shoulder.

A blue-armored figure, small and fragile from this distance, rose out of cover on the balcony and fired back. One of the freelancers tumbled back, cursing and clutching at a charred hole in his armor.

"Missed my heart by an inch!" the man yelled, with the telltale wheeze of a punctured lung.

"Half an inch," murmured Shepard, as one of the other freelancers dragged him into cover. The burnt-sugar smell of medi-gel wafted toward her. Jacob whistled.

"What's our plan, Commander?" whispered Miranda.

Shepard swept the corridor again, her eye catching the stark angles of a gunship a dozen meters ahead. A lone batarian bent over a console, soldering a few last connections.

_So that's Cathka. Thanks for the intel, Jentha. _Shepard turned to Miranda, her pulse so quick it was almost a tremble. "First things first. I think Cathka's working too hard, don't you?"

A beat later, Miranda nodded. "Couldn't agree more, Commander. Why don't we give him a break?"

* * *

Shepard stepped over Cathka's body. She never counted on luck, but with just a little of it, the Blue Suns wouldn't discover his body until she was already in the base.

"Let's move," she snapped over her shoulder. "Archangel doesn't have a lot of time."

The last wave of freelancers had just vaulted over the barricade. Archangel whipped out of cover in a blur of cobalt and sniped two of them before they landed. Shepard felt a low rush of heat, mixed with admiration, and let herself grin. Hell of a fighter, to have lasted so long alone, and to not show any signs of slowing.

She leapt over the barricade, legs bent to absorb her weight, and straightened. From her position, she saw the quickest freelancers disappear into the base, and hoped Archangel could hold them off while she moved in.

"Commander! Watch -"

A concussive round slammed into her left shoulder. Her barriers absorbed the worst of the impact, but her shoulder went numb and the new bandage over the gash in her arm strained to hold her skin together. She stumbled back, gasping as the air rushed out of her lungs, and looked up in time to see Archangel ducking back down into cover.

_Bastard_, she thought, as the battle-spell pulsed in her ears. _I'm on your side. _She unholstered her shotgun and checked the clip as she rolled her shoulder, wincing.

One of the freelancers turned around in cover, staring at her with wide eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed. "He's fucking crazy! Get down!"

Shepard gave him a radiant smile. For the first time since she woke up, she and her body were in complete agreement about what to do.

"Good advice," she said, smile still in place, and lifted her shotgun. The merc had a second to look surprised before she fired.

The gunshots from the balcony paused.

A tight knot of freelancers turned at the sound of her shot, and the one closest to her went whey-faced as comprehension dawned.

"Holy shit, they're with Archangel!" He raised his assault rifle, but Miranda let loose a chatter of SMG fire that blew through his shields like a scythe.

"Charging!" Shepard yelled, her voice high and pure over the screams and gunshots, and threw herself into the silent corridor. She slammed into a freelancer on her exit, and _felt_ the pressure of the corridor's collapse and her weight crush the man's armor.

She threw her head back and swept the field as her barriers flickered back to full strength. _I'm me. I'm still me._

Two mercs tried to flank her on the left, with a third moving in to cut her off from behind. Shepard spun on the balls of her feet, already snapping off a Shockwave to her left, but before she could bring up her shotgun to fire on the third merc, he collapsed with a hole through his throat.

There was more than one way to make an apology. She was glad Archangel had chosen such a practical method.

"Jacob, on my nine! Miranda -"

"Moving out!" she shouted back. "Commander, bomb tech!"

"I see him!" Shepard sent a blue hook spiraling down her arm to shudder out of her palm. The bomb tech tried to roll behind cover, but the Pull snatched him up and tossed him over Shepard's head. A second later, Jacob's pistol barked out a sharp cough and the Pull's echo in her gut died.

Shepard had heard battle described as a symphony, or as music. It was neither. Battle was a dance with no audience, a competition to see who would be the last still moving. She prided - _had prided_ - herself on her efficiency, on her economy of movement. Fighting was the only time she allowed herself to be graceful.

A merc ran between cover, headed for the bomb. Shepard made a quick calculation as she glanced from behind her own sheltering crate, and hoped Miranda and Jacob could hear her.

"Frag out!" She whipped out of cover, fired, and whipped back behind her crate in one smooth pivot. The bomb went off, a rush of heat and light blowing past her. After it passed, she peered around the edge of the crate. Her way into the base was clear.

"On me!" She sprinted into what looked like a common room and ducked behind a couch. Jacob and Miranda slid in on either side. Shepard held up a hand to keep them silent, and listened. Nothing moved. Even the constant stream of freelancers from over the barricade had stopped.

"Move out. I want a full sweep of this floor before we move up. Grab any thermal clips you find, and mark potential exits. We're going to have to fight our way out."

"Copy that."

At Miranda's nod, Shepard stood, shotgun raised, and scanned the perimeter as Jacob and Miranda moved into the room. All of them saw the bodies at the same time.

"Oh, my God," breathed Miranda. "They really did kill them all."

Ten bodies, laid out in two orderly rows, covered with bloody blankets. Shepard reeled back, fighting a wave of dizziness. Archangel had been fighting with the bodies of his friends below him. No wonder he had held out so long, and so desperately. She ached for him. It was too easy to imagine Kaidan under the blankets, or Tali.

"Dammit," she murmured, as the dizziness fell away, replaced by dry grief. Miranda nodded, her cheeks pale.

Jacob knelt by the smallest figure, and pulled back the corner of the blanket. He flinched away from whatever he saw. "Commander, it's -"

"Leave her alone," said Shepard. "She's been through enough." She wrenched her eyes away from the bodies, but not quickly enough to miss the look Jacob and Miranda exchanged.

A faint metallic scraping echoed over their heads, followed by the slow ticking of a bypass. Shepard focused, straining to hear footsteps, breathing, anything that would give her an idea of what to expect.

"Two mercs," she whispered. "Hacking the door to the balcony. On me!"

She ran for the stairs, legs pumping, not bothering to hide her movements. Enough time had been wasted.

At the top of the stairs, the mercs were waiting for her.

"Get her!" shouted the one at the door. The bypass was almost finished. "Take her down, you idiot!"

The second merc leaned out of cover to fire, but Shepard wasn't there. She was in the corridor, rushing toward him as the air tore out of her mouth. The impact crushed his chest. He collapsed, gurgling, and the bypass chimed its completion.

_Not a chance,_ she thought as the second merc tried to slide through the door, a black rage filling her to brimming. She lashed out with a Pull to slow him down, yanking him back down the hallway. He slithered across the tiles, screaming, until Jacob shot him in the jaw.

Shepard shivered and tried to shake off the thick, disbelieving fury that clung to her. She rolled her shoulders, testing her amp for fatigue with careful mental fingers, and glanced back at Jacob and Miranda.

The door was open. She saw Archangel's dark form at the balcony, sighting down to the bridge.

Shotgun raised, she crossed into the room. Twelve bunks lined the far walls; the room smelled lived-in, the air heavy with old exhalations. This was where Archangel's squad lived, she realized, and had to force down another wave of dizziness.

His back was to her, the sharp curves of his armor lined with grey light. She stopped a few feet away and lowered her shotgun. Her lips were dry.

"Archangel?" she said, and watched him slump down against the wall, exhaustion written in every line of his body.

He held up a hand. A breath later, he squeezed the trigger, and the distant sound of a body hitting the floor filtered to her ears.

Archangel turned from the bridge. His helmet hid his face, but he flicked open its seals as he crossed to a low pile of crates and sat down. She shifted her weight and tried to strangle her impatience.

He kept his head down after his helmet was off, but he said her name, and the breath tumbled out of her.

"I thought you were dead," said Garrus.

Exhausted beyond telling, rough and thin - but she would never mistake that voice. When he lifted his head, not quite meeting her eyes, she couldn't stop the helpless, giddy laugh that spun out of her mouth. A part of her, untouched by cold or confusion, opened to him, and she felt relief so great it felt like a sickness.

"Garrus!" He was _here_, in front of her, and alive. She had found him. Her feet carried her almost within arms'-reach before she stopped herself and just beamed at him.

_Not a good time to go running into his arms, Shepard. No matter how happy you are to see him._

"Garrus, what are you doing here?"

He gave her a fleeting glance, his face younger than ever without his visor. For the moment their gazes touched, something hungry flickered in his eyes. He lifted his arm toward her, but whatever gesture he wanted to make died before he touched her, his hands moving to clench around his rifle.

"_Commander Shepard? Garrus Vakarian."_

_She saw Anderson at the bottom of the steps, waving her forward, but she gave the turian a second look. Bulky C-Sec armor, blue markings, steel in his spine - he could have been any one of hundreds of turians she had passed as she ran through the Citadel - except for the visor blinking over his eye, and the eager slope in his voice. She still might have forgotten him if she hadn't run into him at the clinic, if her rebuke hadn't changed something in his gaze._

His armor was heavier now, his shoulders slumped under the weight, but it was _Garrus_. She couldn't care about the faint unease in her belly, or the mercs left to fight. How many missions had they gone on together, fighting about who had the worst food, who had the better guns. He and Kaidan had been with her at the end, when Sovereign turned Saren's corpse into a sick joke and they had to fight their way through broken glass and steel.

_Garrus was the first one to see her when she climbed out of the wreckage, bloody and breathless. She knew his face well enough to see how he smiled as she limped toward them, cradling a broken elbow, and she responded with a grin of her own, her first real one in months._

Back in the real world, in the stink and heat of Omega, Garrus didn't smile, or even look at hers. He answered her with his eyes on the floor.

"I got fed up with all the bureaucratic crap on the Citadel. Figured I could do more good on my own."

She grinned again. Impossible to _not_ grin, when he sounded so much like himself she expected to see the Mako looming beside them. Garrus slumped down even farther, shooting her glances from under his browplates, blinking too fast. Her grin faltered. It was _Garrus_, alive and in reach, after God knew what he'd gone through, but her joy felt sticky and ghoulish, with the bodies of the squad - _Garrus'_ squad - laid out in orderly lines below them. Lines Garrus had put them in, as he mourned.

"On Omega?" She stopped, her mood snuffed out like a candle in a windy room. "Your squad, Garrus, I saw. I'm sorry."

He made a quick, convulsive movement. She saw his throat working, and he shook his head, raising his eyes to hers. No one had ever looked at her like that, with so much hunger in their gaze that it made her throat go dry.

"Is it you?" asked Garrus. "I've - I've seen a lot of things these past few hours, Shepard. I have to know if you're here. Real."

"I'm here," she said, stumbling over the words. She knew they weren't enough by the way Garrus tightened, mandibles flat against his jaw. There was more to say, but_ what _and _why_ - she had no idea.

Garrus's eyes moved restlessly over her face. Shepard resisted the urge to turn away; if he was looking for her old scars, he was out of luck.

"I know, I look like I got mauled." She brushed her mouth with her fingertips. "But it's me." She gestured at Jacob and Miranda, but Garrus never took his eyes from her face. "Long story," she finished, her voice going thready at the end.

Garrus bent like he'd been caught in a heavy wind. His head dropped between his shoulders, and he shrank into himself. Shepard wanted to touch him, to offer what reassurance she could, but held herself back. The effort made her ache. No one had ever looked so defeated.

"Archangel?" she forced out, when the silence pressed against her eardrums. "Where'd that come from?"

Garrus flinched, the tiny movement almost lost in his armor. The urge to touch him, to search him for wounds under his armor, to give what comfort she could, made her hands twitch toward him.

_Focus, Shepard. If you start touching him, you won't stop. He'll think you're crazy if he doesn't already._

"It's just a name the locals gave me for all my good deeds. But it's just - just Garrus to you." A thick, unfamiliar note crept into his voice.

_Yes,_ she thought, not knowing why. She shook the thought away, turned her mind away from the emptiness in the center, and brought herself back to the moment.

"You know you shot me once, right? Quite a welcome."

"Concussive rounds only. I needed - I needed to get you moving." He wouldn't look up. His eyes stayed fixed on his rifle. Something in the intensity of his gaze made the skin on her back itch she took a ste p closer.

"Well, I'm here. Getting out's not going to be easy." Behind her, Miranda huffed in agreement, the first noise either she or Jacob had made since they got to Archangel's room.

"No," he murmured. "The bridge has saved my life, funneling all those witless idiots into scope. But we can't get out that way." He pushed himself to his feet, weary and slow, lifting his rifle. His feet tangled under him and he stumbled, groping behind him for support. Shepard grabbed for his arm, but he threw himself out of her reach, his breath coming heavy and short. She watched as he staggered back another step, catching his balance as he retreated from her, cringing.

_Did you think you could be a hero, Shepard? Did you think you'd reach out and he'd look at you like a savior? You're a ghost in a building filled with death._

"Garrus," she said. She gentled her voice, the way she would for the terrified and the weary. "You had my back for six months. I know it's been a while for you, but has that much changed since...?"

Loyalty: the cleft that split Garrus down the center. Part of her cringed away from using it like this, but she needed to know if he could be pulled back from where he'd gone. His eyes snapped up, a instant's fury in his gaze, before he slumped again, and shook his head. The heat surprised her, and for a moment she hovered on the edge of complete honesty.

_Come on, Garrus. I need you._

Hate filled her until she felt drunk on it: hate for the mercs, hate for whatever had broken Garrus so completely, even hate for Miranda and Jacob, who had brought her back only to show her how she could never go home.

"God, Garrus, I know I'm -" She cut herself off. _You're getting clouded. Breathe it out._

"Stims," said Miranda, cold disgust lining the word. Shepard and Garrus both looked at her. She folded her arms and stared at Garrus with perfect contempt. "He's on stims, Commander. God knows how many."

Shepard gaped. She wanted to shout Miranda down_ - not Garrus, he'd never touch the stuff, dulls your reaction time, makes you careless_ - and she turned, furious, to see the woman gave her a tiny nod.

_Dammit. Smooth, Miranda. _If she hadn't been so wrapped up in Garrus, she'd have recognized the playacting for what it was. Miranda had given Garrus something to hate, and saved him from immobility. Shepard brushed the tip of her tongue over the inside of her lip and started to form an order, but Garrus cut her off before she could speak.

"Cerberus," he spat, rounding on Miranda. "Physical torture isn't enough anymore?"

"Hey, enough!" snapped Shepard. She stepped between them. _No time for sweet talk now. _"We have to figure out a way to get out of here, _together._" Garrus glared at Miranda, almost panting, fists clenched. "Garrus. Garrus!" When he didn't respond, she shouted. "Vakarian! Eyes on me!"

He jolted. His eyes met hers, just a brief, bewildered touch, but she saw the way he straightened. _Thank God. I won't have to drag him out of here._

"By now, the mercs know their freelancers are dead," she hissed. "What can we expect?"

He shook his head. "I don't -"

"Think! You know this station." She took a step into his space and held his gaze without blinking. "You know the mercs. Three groups. Who'll come first?"

"They'll all attack at once," he said immediately. He still sounded lost, but some of the old sharpness crept back into his voice. "They sent in the freelancers, and next they'll send in the mechs. If all that doesn't work, they'll join forces and try to wipe us out. None of the groups have the numbers to pull off an attack by themselves. Not after -" He stared at his rifle and shook his head.

"Explains why they had to recruit freelancers." Jacob gave Garrus a speculative look. "You guys really cut them down, huh?"

Garrus laughed once, like stones rubbed together.

"The mechs worry me," said Miranda. "On their own, they're not much of a threat, but with that YMIR, we could have trouble."

Shepard grinned. It was nothing like the smile she'd given Garrus when he took his helmet off. A fox's smile. "Don't forget, the mechs won't be as helpful as they're hoping."

Garrus blinked. "You - hacked them all?"

"Remember Tali's trick on Therum?" Garrus nodded reluctantly. "Jaroth tries to start one of them up, and it'll overload every processor in fifty yards." She glanced at Garrus, as a distant, whining _thwoom _echoed over the bridge. "That's the mechs taken care of. And that's why it pays to have friends," she said, around her fox's smile. She wasn't sure who she was talking to: Garrus, or Miranda and Jacob. Or herself.

Garrus' gaze moved hungrily over her face before he gave her a turian smile that looked as horrible as hers felt. "Sabotaging mechs," he said, in a new, flat voice. "Too bad you weren't here two days ago."

"I'm here now, Garrus. I -" _I didn't move quickly. I'm sorry. _Her body wanted to shy away from the cold iron in his voice and curl into itself. "Got anything else for us?"

He took his time answering, picking up his visor and turning it over in his hands before clipping it back into place.

_Oh,_ thought Shepard, before she could slap the thought down. _There you are._

"Jaroth," he said, voice tight. "They - my squad - killed his brother. He's out for blood. Garm and I tangled a while back. I almost had him, but then -" He paused, eyes cutting away from hers. "And Tarak -" Garrus shook his head as his hands clenched rhythmically on his rifle. Now that he had looked at her once, he couldn't seem to stop. "Tarak still hasn't gotten over our visit."

_Ten bodies, two rows_. "So they've got personal business with you." She nodded back toward the balcony. "Better stay up here, then. You can put out a lot of damage from that spot if anyone gets ambitious."

Garrus gave her another look that was torn between bewilderment and terrible exhilaration. "And you can do what you do best," he said. "They won't know what hit them."

"Never saw me coming, right?" The tease in her voice fell short, tumbling down into the chasm between them. A far-off explosion vibrated up through her feet.

Garrus froze, eyes darting around the room, as another, closer explosion came from beneath them.

"Damn," he said. His breathing went ragged. "They had to use their brains eventually."

"Talk to me, Garrus."

"The tunnels below the base are - were - rigged with proximity charges. Sounds like the mercs are using them to blow their way into the base."

Her curiosity nearly got the better of her as she caught the layers behind the _were_, but she strangled it. _Priorities, Shepard. Get out alive, and you'll be able to chase him down for answers on the _Normandy_._

In emphasis, another explosion rattled up through the base. A fight on two fronts -

_Three fronts_, she thought, remembering the gunship. She bit the inside of her lip hard enough to taste blood. Jacob and Miranda waited for her orders, their faces cool professional masks. Garrus kept trying not to look at her.

"All right," she said. "They're going to pull out all the tricks for us, now that they know Archangel has some friends. We've got two vantage points from here. Jacob, Miranda I want you covering the inside of the base from that wall. We're about to have a lot of company from downstairs. And Garrus - you stay where you are."

_Four people, to hold off over a hundred mercs. I started the day with just one suicide mission on my mind._

Any more thought on the subject shattered when the next explosion rattled up through her legs. "They're almost in. Check your clips." She could hear the hisses and shrieks of the vorcha, and somewhere, not far behind, the bellow of a krogan. "Miranda, Jacob, keep that stairway clear. I'm going to need it in a few minutes."

"Commander?" Miranda had her pistol out, the SMG stowed in its holster. "Commander, what are you doing?"

Shepard felt Garrus' eyes on her. "Thinning the herd." She passed him on her way to the balcony, eyes resolutely ahead. If she looked at him now, she'd never be able to keep her hands steady.

She swung up onto the railing. The wave danced just within reach; when she grasped it, sour spit filled her mouth. Almost ready. Her body quivered, ready to leap, but she held herself still until a slender figure leapt over the barricade. The Eclipse symbol on the front of its armor was just visible from her position.

"Hello, Jaroth," she murmured. The first swell of dark energy flooded her nerves. Shepard hit the Charge and threw herself through the air, away from Garrus, away from the way he gripped his rifle, away from how she couldn't bear the way he flinched from her and how it felt like a stone lodged in her throat.

Time to dance.


End file.
